Fairest
by sistersgrimmlover
Summary: In a world called Albion, there were four rulers; fair and just. That fairytale is over; a new one begins. Harry Potter is an orphan-boy, wandering through the world alone and ignorant of the power that dwells deep within him. But, soon, when the Dark Lord arrives to rip his heart out for the Queen, he learns that he is the rightful heir of a kingdom lost. Slash: HP/LV. Reposting.
1. Epigraph

**Title:** Fairest

 **Pairing:** HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer:** I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note:** Well. Hello again, old friends. I took down this story many years ago because I thought I would rework it into a real novel. I have since realized that it never quite worked as I can't really divorce all the ideas that I commandeered from many other works. This work was inspired by Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, and a host of other fantasy stories, and so I think it serves best as Fanfiction.

And so, I will be rewriting this story. I hope you enjoy.

 **Fairest**

 _ **epigraph**_

 _Does this darkness have a name?_

 _This cruelty this hatred._

 _How did it find us, did it steal into our lives_

 _Or did we seek it out and embrace it?_

 _What happened to us that we now_

 _Send our children into the world like_

 _We send young men to war,_

 _Hoping for their safe return_

 _But knowing some will be lost along the way._

 _When did we lose our way?_

 _Consumed by the shadows_

 _Swallowed whole by the darkness._

 _Does this darkness have a name..._

 _Is it your name?_

 **A/N:** So, I'm publishing the epigraph, the rewritten prologue, and the rewritten first chapter to tide you all over. You know the drill. Please drop a review!


	2. Prologue

**Title:** Fairest

 **Pairing:** HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer:** I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note:** Well, here's the rewritten

 **Fairest**

Prologue

The black marble floors were run through with veins of silver. It was cold beneath her feet, like black sheets of ice. The strength of the wind raddled the panes of glass set into the French doors of the balcony. It was the night—the perfect night. Magic was not silent when it descended upon kingdoms.

No, Magic knocked.

And it had to be let in.

She crossed the bedroom floor—ice, black sheets of ice—and long, elegant fingers turned the knob. The door swung crashed open with a heavy clatter and the wind—the Magic—whipped around her. But, the silk nightgown and her thick sheet of black hair was undisturbed. No, the wind crawled down her spine, made her nipples harden underneath the thin fabric, creating peaks. She shuddered with pleasure.

"Welcome, friend," she breathed in greeting.

The air whistled back, kissing her cheeks rosy red. Slowly, she shut the door again and stared past the frosty glass into the dark night.

The sky did not sparkle with a million stars—those were nights when fairytales were born. This was the night of nightmares, of Magic-personified.

She pulled the heavy velvet curtains shut, harsher than necessary. The woman turned and walked towards her bed, the slit up the black skirt revealing the long wand strapped to her alabaster thigh. She fell onto her bed, sitting at the very edge, long hair pooling in her lap. The woman pulled the wand free and twisted it through the air, pulling and tugging at something.

The entire room, from the ash-colored wallpaper to the black marble floors, twisted and inverted, shifting into something else. There was a loud crack and the floor parted like the sea. The black marble melted into a spiral staircase, leading down in the deep, dark unknown.

The woman smiled, sliding her wand back into the thigh holster and began her descent, all dark grace, as she had a hundred times before. As she made her way down the steps, the marble slotted together with a slam, throwing her into the darkness. The woman did not mind.

She knew the way.

As she drew closer to the bottom, she could see the pale fluttering light of the eternal torch that marked the end. Her violet eyes brightened with obsessive madness. The madness disappeared when she entered the simple room.

The circular room was of roughly cut grey stone, pushed together rather clumsily by magic in her youth. Against the curved wall to the left was a dark wooden table, a bubbling cauldron resting atop it. Next to the cauldron was bust. The woman placed her wand beyond the bust and reached for the diadem, presented garishly atop of the bust of its former owner.

The woman smirked in amusement at her own twisted humour.

The head, the pretty little head, and the rest of the body rested in the ground now, beneath years of rot.

The woman could remember the body, skirts heavy from melted snow and chest ripped wide open, ribs cracked to reveal the empty cavity where the pretty girl's should have been. She had died with a bloody smile on her face—that was one thing the woman could say about the pretty, irritating girl.

The pretty girl, with her pretty body and her pretty, pretty heart, had looked Death in the eye and smiled.

The woman lifted the diadem and placed it to her crown, atop thick, shining hair. Finally, _finally_ , she looked at the grand piece of her collection of stolen baubles, deep in the dungeons of her stolen palace.

The mirror was tall and narrow. The words atop looked to the common like simple gibberish.

 _ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT ON WOHSI._

To the common witch or wizard, it would show only their 'heart's' desire. But, the woman was no fool nor was she common.

With a guardian, the mirror took its true purpose and placed in the depths of Hogwarts Castle, it fed upon the ancient magic, its power amplifying.

For a long moment, the woman simply admired herself, staring at her curves wrapped in black silk, her long black hair, the glittering of the stolen diadem. Her amble bosom, exposed by the low neckline, her nipples peaking beneath the thin fabric from the chilly air. She stared at herself with heavy-lidded eyes and smiled, pleased. Her youth was coming along quite nicely.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall…who is fairest of them all?"

The woman's reflection rippled, revealing electric blue eyes, laden with grief and sorrow.

"You are the fairest. But there is another…" The old, wizened voice creaked from the mirror and the woman's dangerous violet eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting her beautiful face.

" _What_?" the woman hissed.

"Famed is thy beauty, my Queen, but one, sure to be lovelier, I see. More beautiful than thee. Dirt and smudge shall not hide strength in magic and grace. Alas, another is fairer inside and in face," the rasping voice said and the woman heard that terrible thing called hope in between his words.

Rage stirred low in her belly, pitching her stomach in roll. She tasted the bile at the back of her tongue and spat at the mirror.

"The name, you fool!" she roared. "Show me the name and face of this creature!"

"You know that I cannot answer without a question."

The woman spat again, spittle trailing down the glass. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall…reveal the name of the fairest of them all!" she snarled in fury.

The mirror rippled again.

The woman leaned forward, peering into the mirror's image. Her lips parted in surprise as she stared at the young man, sitting in the middle of a field, leaning his face upon his palm as he tore the grass into shreds. And though he had a pair of ugly round glasses sitting on his nose, he was _beautiful_ , indeed.

"Red as rose. Black as ebony. White as snow, so to speak. Harry Potter is the one you seek."

The woman glared at the image and she ran a sharp gleaming red nail along the curve of the young man's face. The young man suddenly looked up, as if he had sensed her spying. He had such brilliant green eyes, the kind of green that reminded her of fresh leaves and grass and summer— _beauty_.

She glared and scraped her nails across the glass, distorting the image and banishing it from her. The electric blue eyes returned, staring at her. She spun around towards the bookcase, but did not move.

Did any of the books hold any answers for her?

"Ask the final question, my love."

Dark crimson eyes stared at her from the shadows. She could not see that handsome face—not dark wavy hair nor his strong pale jaw, but he was there.

"Yes, brother," she whispered. "Mirror, mirror, tell me this…how shall I return to former bliss?"

"Consume his heart and you shall live forever, Queen Bellatrix."

Bellatrix's eyes widened. So simple. And history repeated itself once more. She laughed. Her laugh, deep and guttural, chilled men to its bones and set their loins alight. This was something she knew, deep in her marrow, just as she had known what the answer would be. She had _known_.

For she had done it countless times before.

Queen Bellatrix of the Isles turned to her brother and stared at his dark crimson eyes. He stared at the mirror, and she could see his lips pull into a gleaming smile. That was all he was—blood eyes and white teeth.

And he whispered, "Well done, Mirror."

::::

 **A/N:** Well. This is going to be fun to get back into. I'm excited for this! I hope you are too!


	3. Chapter One

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : Well, here's the rewritten chapter one. I guess. I don't even know what I'm doing.

 **Fairest**

Chapter One

Once upon a time, long before the tyrannical reign of the great and terrible Queen Bellatrix, there was a land called Albion. Previously a place of immense beauty and wonder and Magic, it had now been turned into a wasteland of destruction. The land had become slick with the blood of the fallen and silent as Death who had claimed the dead with his grey hands and empty eyes. Four rulers, their names long tabooed, lorded over the Four Corners of the land, all powerful sorcerers of unknown origins that seemed to have risen from the depths of Hell itself.

And in that fabled land called Albion, there had been four warriors who had claimed the four corners of the noble empire from these products of utmost evil, the Tabooed, after a devastating war of blood and tears, and had united it. The broken land once more became one by the four hands of these powerful wielders of Magic.

The four: a Lion, a Snake, a Badger, and an Eagle.

The Lion, a warrior of valour and strength, had a mane of fire and a temper to match. Despite his quick temper, he was good and fair. He ruled the south of the Empire with justice, and those who served him loved him. Brandishing his great sword of iron and jewel, he used his magic and strength to protect his subjects from the unwanted attentions of other countries that sought to seize the prosperous kingdom. He was Godric Gryffindor

The Snake, a man with a silver tongue and a quick cleverness, saw to the North with a strict, but not cruel, hand. Despite his dislike for the Muggles he ruled, he treated them with respect. He did not wield any weapons but for quick words and charming smiles. He did not visit the cold North, but he was sure that those that lived there were properly taken care of during the winter lunar cycles. His subjects, despite his detached behaviours, loved the Snake. This was Salazar Slytherin.

The Bear, with fur of honey and skin of milk, watched the West. Though she was not known for shrewdness or brute strength or powerful intellect, she was known for her hard-working personality and kind words. The enemies who had forgotten that she had once destroyed a great sorceress of profound skill considered her soft. Contrary to that belief, she was indeed strong and wise in her own way. Her blue eyes held hidden insight. When looking for advice, the citizens of the West knew where to go to find counsel. Though she never did marry, she viewed every citizen of the Isles as her own child, and thus she was referred to as the Mother. This was Helga Hufflepuff.

Last—but certainly not least—was the Eagle. The Eagle was known throughout the vast empire for a clear intellect that had been cultivated since youth. Dark eyes flickered with wisdom whenever she was faced with a problem that affected the East. Wisdom and intelligence reflected in every word she spoke. The Eagle was a practical woman, searching for rationality before all. Emotions were irrelevant, and the good of one was nothing compared to the greater good of them all. This was Rowena Ravenclaw.

The four Founders ruled as Kings and Queens, and they resided in the centre of Avalon in a castle that they had built upon sacred, ancient land and called it Hogwarts.

Salazar Slytherin was the first to find a Consort to rule beside him, with Rowena Ravenclaw is close second. Salazar's first child was met with great celebration for the day symbolized the surprise birth of _two_ heirs to the North.

On that day, Bellatrix—born to be a warrior—and Tom Marvolo were born, with Bellatrix clinging to his foot as the emerged wet from the womb.

Cherubic in their own right, with a thatch of black hair on both heads, Tom Marvolo sported crimson eyes and Bellatrix, lavender eyes, that opened for the first time at their blessing ceremony.

For years, the twins were told of their beauty and grew fond of the constant doting and fawning compliments. Bellatrix grew into a small beauty, with tumbling black curls and striking eyes that had darkened to violet with age. Tom Marvolo's dark red eyes only emphasized the paleness of his face and his jaw grew sharper.

Even after the birth of two more sisters, Narcissa and Andromeda, both lovely in their own right, the twins were still the most beautiful. And in the kingdom of Albion, beauty was power.

Soon after the twins' tenth birthday, Rowena gave birth to a girl. The child was just as beautiful as the twins and with every year, she grew more in beauty and grace. And as her beauty grew, so did the twins' vengeful rage.

The young princess Helena was like a bird. Tom Marvolo always enjoyed birds—even birds with hair of ebony and eyes of cloud, for princess Helena had been born blind.

And still, anger and jealousy consumed the twins. Hatred hardened Bellatrix's heart and consumed her in an _ugly_ way.

The day that Bellatrix found the silver hair shattered her fragile and brittle mind and sealed Helena's fate and her short life.

The two siblings ventured out to find the great mirror that could help them in their quest for eternal beauty and youth.

They found it in the country of Gringotts, the goblin country and the stole away with it and into the dark night they went with the mirror. They sealed a man into it to be guardian of their new treasure and they transferred it to a secret place that they had created together in the deep dark recesses of the castle.

On the day of Helena's fifteenth year, the two siblings arranged for Narcissa and Andromeda to deliver the young woman to the edges of the Forbidden Forest, the woods that separated the South from the East. It ranged from the edge of the Hogwarts Castle grounds to the sea. Tom Marvolo, being the only man brave enough, ventured into the forest to commit the dark deed.

"Where are we going?" the blind bird had asked.

"We're going to fetch your present," Tom Marvolo answered honestly. He heard the soft gasp of delight from the sweet girl and he turned to look at her.

A bright grin adorned her face and a giggle reminiscent to the sound of iced chimes echoed through the deserted forest. "A _present_? For me? _I_ get a present, but when I get _you_ one, you won't even use it."

Tom Marvolo looked away from Helena, a frown upon his face as he thought of how gullible she was. It was as if Rowena hadn't cared enough to tell her daughter about the dangers in their world. At first glance, it may appear that they were protected more than most, but the populace was so wrong, so wrong to assume that the royals were safe.

They may be safe from _outsiders_ , but not from each _other_.

"Yes. We're going to fetch a present for you. Helena, we're almost there."

His voice sounded hoarse and he frowned in confusion. Tom Marvolo didn't understand when the fictional heroes lamented those actions that would bring pain to their loved ones but would be good for the world. He had never understood, and he still did not understand.

 _Bring me her heart._

Bellatrix's words echoed in his mind. His own words, a promise.

He looked up, expecting to be back in their little hideaway where their enchanted mirror rested. But, he only heard the caw of a crow. He glanced at his cousin, but Helena was undisturbed. Tom Marvolo felt rage fill his heart as he looked at the stupid girl who trusted too easily.

"We're almost there," Tom Marvolo whispered as he pulled the young girl along and ducked underneath more branches, pulling them aside so that he could bring Helena to the empty clearing that Tom Marvolo had found.

"Are we there, Tom Marvolo?"

"Yes."

Helena's face lit up with a smile and she waited for the voices of her loved ones. Her smile began to dim when there was only the rustling of dead leaves. Tom Marvolo stared at her with a blank expression and he took hold of Helena's shoulders. Helena's frown grew more dramatic when he simply held her.

"Tom Marvolo…what…what's going on?" Helena whispered.

Tom Marvolo gave a grim smile. "We're here, little bird. This is the end."

He grabbed her wrist in a tightly hold and slowly pulled the ceremonial knife from its sheath. The sound of metal on metal caused Helena to stiffen in recognition.

And the prince Tom Marvolo slew her and cut open her chest with his body. He removed her heart, stole her diadem, and left her body, the snow stained red as his eyes.

Together, the twins did the Darkest of Magicks, and consumed her heart as Rowena wept her fallen daughter. No one suspected the twins of their dark deed and thus, they continued for many years, preying on little girls of the kingdom, ripping their hearts from broken ribcages and feasting on their youth.

Until.

 _(In fairy tales, there is always an 'until'.)_

Until Godric had a young daughter whom was more beautiful at birth than Tom Marvolo, Bellatrix, and Helena all put together.

With eyes green as fresh grass and a mane made of fire, she was named after the fiercely colored flower, the tiger-lily, shortened to Lily. She had skin of fresh cream with a spatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Unlike Bellatrix, she was not absurdly tall though she did have some height and she was not thin but lean. Her beauty was bright and natural as the spring, and there was one thing more—

She was beautiful, inside and out, and beauty meant _power_.

Her magic coiled in her belly, raging as a flame, and it showed in the way her muscles bunched together as she walked, staining the air with the scent of power and flowers.

Despite her tremendous temper and quick, mischievous ways, Lily Gryffindor was beloved by all of her future to the fury of her fellow heirs.

And with this, our story _truly_ begins…

 **MIRROR, MIRROR**

The young woman walked the edges of the Forbidden Forest, between the magical gates and the edges of the orchards. The fourteen-year-old stared curiously at the large black gates, her green eyes wide and inspecting. It was a tall, foreboding sight, the origin of many stories of caution that had come from both her mother and father.

She could practically feel her father's eyes on her now, green eyes just like hers, full of warning as she reached out with a hand. She pulled it back tightly against her chest. It was as if Karina, her mother, was in her ear, hissing that she was far closer to the gates than she should be.

Princess Lily Gryffindor spun around and began to run back towards the orchards, her bare feet pounding on the ground. It was not because she was afraid, though. She was a _Gryffindor_. She was not a coward and she wouldn't let Bellatrix or Tom tease her as if she were.

She spotted her shoes at the base of the tallest tree in the orchard and reached up with practiced ease, pulling herself onto the long limb that had been supporting her weight since she'd learned how to climb trees.

She swung from branch to branch, her long auburn mane carefully wrapped around her arm, and landed heavily on the strong, familiar bough, then she stood, holding her arms aloft. She looked up through narrowed eyes at the stronghold that was her home.

Absently, Lily pulled free one of the teardrop-shaped golden fruits that hung low and bit into it, the juices sliding down her chin and leaving a sticky aftermath. Despite being mid-February, the trees were fruitful and the leaves were a crisp green. It had something to do with the sacred land that the castle had been built upon.

The First Emperor of old had been born there once, or so the stories said. He had been born at dawn and magic was most powerful at dawn's birth and daybreak. They said the First Emperor, Merlin, had wielded a magic so powerful that everyone fell to their knees before him when he took his first step. But those were fairy stories, long forgotten and transcribed in tomes. Lily wasn't much for fairy stories. She always suspected that they weren't true at all. She didn't believe unless she saw it with her eyes.

"What are you doing up there, Princess?"

Lily stiffened at the call. She stiffened as her gaze fell upon the young man, handsome with his toused black hair and mischievous hazel eyes. The young man stood in the battle robes of a Lord, the shield of his vassal lord and king, Gryffindor, on his breast.

"What are you doing, following me, James?" Lily huffed at the young knight.

James grinned up at her, his head tilted in faux confusion. His grins always belied his purpose. He was here to bug and tease her, as per usual.

"I'm supposed to, aren't I? King Godric told me to, so I'm doing exactly as he says. Someone has to keep you out of trouble, right?" James teased.

Lily glared, infuriated. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, as you well know. Unless you'd like me to hex you again," Lily threatened, pulling hand free from the bodice of her robe and brandishing it dangerously.

James threw his hands up in surrender. "Let's not be hasty, Princess!"

"Exactly, I'm not afraid to jinx you so hard that you'll be puking slugs for years, James, so you'd best be—" Lily snapped.

"Threats aren't exactly ladylike, are they, Lily?"

James and Lily jerked. Whenever Lily argued with James, it was if her world zeroed in on him. Lily looked at the group that had approached them, gliding over still grass, as she had threatened James. The twins had always unnerved Lily, with their deep, oddly coloured eyes, and how heavy their magic felt, suffocating and overwhelming.

"Well, I'm not particularly ladylike, Bellatrix," Lily retorted.

Bellatrix smirked and exchanged a look of amusement with her brother. Lily surveyed the little band of followers. Andromeda called them the Death Eaters, and they were proud of the name that they had made for themselves in Albion. They were exclusive, sons and daughters of powerful and old families from the North. Everyone wanted to be them.

Lily hesitated as she looked at the youngest Death Eater—a greasy haired man with a long, hooked nose.

Even Severus had wanted to be one, and he had gotten his wish. Lily suspected that he was only a Death Eater because Tom wanted to see how she would react to him stealing her beloved friend.

"Are you sure?" Tom smirked. "You're so _tame_."

Lily looked over at her handsome 'cousin', irritation straining every muscle.

"With all due respect, my Lord, it would not do to antagonize the future Queen of the South. Don't you agree, Lady Bellatrix?" James asked, sharply.

Bellatrix's eyes flashed at the reminder of her title. She could not assume the proper title of heir, not until her father picked between her and her brother.

"Quite," Bellatrix sneered and she glanced over at her twin brother, affection heavy in her violet gaze.

"Yes, Bella?" Tom asked, patient, though he didn't look back at his sister.

Lily wondered if he could sense her gaze. Perhaps it was some hidden magic that only twins shared. Lily would not know. They were the only set she had ever made acquaintance with.

"We were… _I_ was wondering if Lily would like to accompany our hunting party out into the Forest," Bellatrix said with a sly smile.

Her attempt at innocence fell short. Lily doubted very much if there had ever been a time when Bellatrix was innocent. The woman bit her lip, rocking back and forth as she stared up at her brother with too-wide eyes. Bellatrix always held her eyes too wide, as if she were trying to see everything there was. Lily glanced at James. His hand had fallen to his hilt at Bellatrix' suggestion, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

"You're always ready for a fight, boy, aren't you? You didn't get that from your father," Tom said.

"No. Only protecting the Princess. Princess Lily isn't permitted even near the gate of the Forbidden Forest. I apologize but she must stay in the orchard. Perhaps if you get permission from King Godric," James said, his voice missing the previous mischief and harsher in tone than was considered respectful.

Tom and James locked eyes and there was a battle between hazel and crimson. Tom didn't drop his gaze. Whereas James had a fierce protective glare in his eyes, Tom's was rather unemotional and shrouded by the color of blood. If there was one thing that bothered Lily the most about the two Slytherin twins, it was their ability to hide their emotions though Tom could do it better than Bellatrix.

"If you're sure," Tom said finally. He turned on his heel before curling his finger towards Severus.

Severus stepped forward, his expression vaguely disdainful at being beckoned like a dog, but when Tom leaned over to whisper something in the man's ear, he gave a nod. James looked at the man in knowing distaste. Lily picked up her shoes slowly and startled when Tom and Bellatrix looked up sharply. She had barely made a noise of any sort. Their sharpness was strange, almost dangerous and Lily's instincts were screaming at her to run.

In the Slytherins' presence, Lily was no longer a predator as she had been raised. Her mother had always called her Lioness, just as her father was the Lion. But under the twins' gazes, she was only prey, and right now, she was being hunted.

"I…I think Mother said to be back by now," Lily stammered and she rushed forward when a hand wrapped around her arm, cutting off the circulation and she looked over at the crazy-eyed woman.

"I'll walk back with you. I've changed my mind. Brother, you may go off on your hunt. I would like to walk back with 'Cousin'," Bellatrix said, slyly and Tom nodded once before casting a glance to the man that Lily knew was Bellatrix's betrothed.

"Rodolphus, off with Bellatrix. Come, Severus, Lucius, we have a hunt to go on. I believe that the fool groundskeeper is keeping one of his creatures in our lands. We shall go slay it for sport," Tom smirked, vindictively and Lily couldn't help but think of Hagrid's heartbroken face when he would discover that Tom planned to kill another of his pets.

The party of four walked in silence, Rodolphus flanking his betrothed and James flanking his Princess. Lily glanced over her shoulder at him and he gave her a weak smile that she couldn't quite return. A hand settled itself on Lily's shoulder and the young woman jumped as she turned to look at the older one. Bellatrix was smiling, her face holding an ageless beauty. Lily knew that Bellatrix and Tom were over thirty years older than her, but they certainly didn't look it. They were already forty-six, full grown adults, but they appeared as if they were a few years older than she, six at the most. It was unsettling.

"How is your map coming along, James?" Bellatrix asked, something that sounded like interest in her voice. Lily stared up at her, startled.

Lily and James exchanged a look.

"How do you know about my map?" James asked, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, Sir James. Everyone knows about your map of the castle," Bellatrix murmured. There was an edge in her voice as she gritted her teeth. They had reached the grand doors of the castle. "Do you have any other maps?"

"I do. We make maps of everything. And it's going well. Thank you for asking," James said somewhat sharply. Lily quickly slipped inside, ducking her head as she tried to rush up the stairs, James on her heels.

"You're running awfully fast, Lily. Do you fear me?" Bellatrix asked. Her eyes were glittering and Lily felt her own eyes narrow.

Lily scurried into the castle and almost collided with her favorite 'aunt'.

"Aunt Rowena," Lily said, softly as she stared at the tall and wispy woman.

The dark woman had strands of silver growing from her temples and she looked exhausted but achieved a strained smile for her favorite 'niece'.

"Hello, Tiger-lily. Sir James, Sir Rodolphus…Bellatrix," Rowena said giving the woman a suspicious look and Bellatrix gave a dark smile that showed much too many teeth to be innocent.

The two women could be compared but there was something about them. While Rowena grew older and was still beautiful, Bellatrix retained her youth and beauty despite the fact that she was in her mid-forties and quickly approaching fifty.

"Aunt Rowena," Bellatrix said, blandly though there was a hint of triumph in her voice and Rowena only glared at her further.

"What were you doing with Lily?"

"Only accompanying her back to the Castle. Tom is going on another hunt and I was to accompany him. The horses were waiting by the gate—"

"Horses?" Lily interrupted for she knew that the stable was closer to the castle and separated the orchards from the castle walls and she paled when Bellatrix gave her a silent snarl to stay silent and Rowena gave the two even looks.

"The thestrals," Bellatrix said with a wicked grin before she turned back to Rowena.

"And then, I thought, why not accompany pretty little Tiger-lily?" Bellatrix continued and she gave a crazed little laugh before turning towards Lily and grabbing her by the chin.

Rowena took a step forward.

"Bellatrix…" Rowena said, warningly and Bellatrix glared at Rowena. Lily bit her lip before shoving Bellatrix's hand away.

Both Rowena and Bellatrix looked surprise for a moment. Then Bellatrix gave her a dark smile.

"Happy almost fifteenth birthday. I do hope you won't go the same way as Helene," Bellatrix said, casting Rowena a smirk and parading away.

Rowena paled dramatically, taking a step back as the name long forbidden was spoken aloud. Bellatrix smirked and turned Rodolphus, drawing him up the stairs with amorous words and seductive looks.

"She…" James said and his voice quivered with hidden rage.

Rowena's eyes flashed.

"Excuse me, Lily, Sir James. I must have a word with my fellow sovereigns," Rowena said firmly and Lily watched as the woman stormed away, dark midnight robes billowing behind her as she walked.

Suddenly the woman stopped.

"Seer Trelawney shall be here in three hours time. Be prepared to greet her in a gown, dear Tiger-lily. The crimson and gold frock that Helga made for you. Your mother should be in your room, now," Rowena said, softly and Lily nodded in agreement.

"Yes, Aunt Rowena."

 **ON THE WALL**

The silence throughout the hall was almost deafening. Lily squirmed. She had always hated silence. Quiet was different—quiet was when everything was muted but still very much there. Silence was damning. It was the end to everything, and it made Lily feel very much alone, even when she was surrounded by people.

She huffed in impatience and felt a calming hand wrap around her wrist. When her sharp green eyes looked up, they met calm hazel eyes that urged her to relax. Lily bit her lip and redirected her gaze to the closed doors and the expectant faces of the court. The grip around her wrist squeezed harder and Lily let out a slow sigh as she looked up into James' eyes once more. He nodded firmly at her. She gave a slow nod back and took in a deep breath, holding it, and then finally letting go.

It relaxed her to a certain degree, but not much.

The other Marauders, Lily's personal guard, was there too. But, the way Peter Pettigrew whimpered as the four sovereigns of Albion entered was not very reassuring.

Lily squirmed again, suffocating in the orane dress that her mother had forced her into. The gold and crimson dress was laced tight around her abdomen, so tight she could barely breathe, and the layers of skirts hindered all movement. The pearls dripping off the dress were so much that she felt gaudy. Her dark red hair had been weaved into braids and then twisted again into an enormous bun that weighed too heavy on the nape of her neck. Lily felt like an oversized fashion doll.

The Founders stood with power radiating from them. Even though they had aged, they were still very much the warriors who had spilled Tainted blood onto the grasses of the land, who had reunited four broken countries into the greatest empire that the world had ever seen. Lily felt immense pride that she could be heir to something that these four had created.

Her father, King Godric, sat down on his golden throne. He was freshly shaven for the event, something that Lily wasn't used to. He preferred a healthy layer of stubble between his skin and the elements, he had once said when Lily was much younger. It had always made her laugh. His legendary sword had supposedly been infused with the blood of a dwarf, making it infallible. It reflected the light that shone through stain glass windows brilliantly. Godric's ornate and golden crown glinted with rubies the colour of freshly spilled blood. He looked magnificent.

Lily turned her attention to the next throne as Queen Helga sat down in her high-backed chair of onyx, golden crown high on her dark honey hair. Her golden highlights matched her golden robes perfectly. She offered Lily a calm and reassuring smile. Helga alone seemed to realize that Lily was not excited to hear about her fate from the one that spoke for Fate, and that some reassurances would gladly be received by the young princess.

Queen Rowena sat down in a throne of solid bronze. She had been a handsome woman, once, and as fierce as she had been striking. Lily had seen portraits of her when the war had only just ended and they had just begun stabilizing the Empire. Now, however, she always looked tired, and her dark eyes flashed when they fell on the four snake-children.

Finally, King Salazar's throne was silver and a silver crown sat upon his silver head. He looked every bit the distinguished Noble-turned-King that he was. Though he didn't carry a weapon like Godric, his closest friend, Lily had heard stories that he had no need of one. His magic alone was weapon enough.

Lily could never understand how such a quiet, almost _nice_ man could have such cruel children, but she did not speak about it to anyone but her Guard. No one else understood the darkness that Lily saw in the snake-children anyway.

The four beautiful snake-children were staring at her. Lily blinked, realizing that she had labelled them with the foolish nickname James and his friend, Sirius, used. They thought they were a den of snakes, a juvenile story shared between children. They were no longer children. She almost snorted but then she realized how stupid that would look in front of everybody, especially on her birthday. Bellatrix and Tom already looked all too amused by her fidgeting.

At least, Bellatrix did. She was grinning that wide grotesque smile that sent shivers down Lily's spine. No one else ever noticed how unnatural that smile was or the twisted nature of the darkness shrouding the Prince's face, just as everyone appeared oblivious to the abnormal passiveness of Andromeda's expression. Andromeda had once run away, when Lily had been ten. By the time Lily was ten and three, she had been dragged back, as if she had never left. It unnerved her. The calculating look in the eyes of Narcissa, with Lucius Malfoy standing just behind her with an arrogant smirk. It all unnerved Lily.

Only those who were closest to Lily seemed to understand, by which she did not mean her parents.

"Child of the Gryffindor Sovereign approach," commanded the silver haired man standing right in front of the dais and his electric blue eyes twinkled.

Albus Dumbledore, the Whisper Lord, was a powerful wizard, one that had lived even before the Tabooed, and had battled them, helping Godric defeat the last of them in battle. He had not wanted any part of royalty, only wanted to serve. He was loyal. And he was grandfatherly. He a good, kind man, addicted to lemons of all sorts, in candy form or not. He was also not a fan of the Slytherin twins, and that marked a good man in Lily's books.

Lily jolted when Remus, a werewolf and the estranged heir to Fenrir Greyback's pack, pushed her forward. Lily walked slowly towards her father and his eyes gave a kind glint that reassured and warmed her. Lily gave a quirky grin and her father gave a little rumbling sound that sounded almost like a laugh that he stopped quickly when Salazar sent him a glare.

Lily turned to look at her mother before she shook herself and faced the unknown, unflinchingly and undoubtedly a Gryffindor.

"I present the Court Seer, Sybill Trelawney. Approach Seer," announced Filch who stood at the door and announced everyone and Lily watched as a bug-eyed woman with large spectacles and dull brown robes.

As Sybill Trelawney emerged, the court fell in reverence to her, bowing. Lily was surprised when even the snake-children bowed. Trelawney paused before them and stared, blinking slowly, like a dull dog.

"Rise, Kingmaker," she commanded.

Lily startled when Tom slowly stood from where he kneeled. Trelawney smiled and continued on. The rest of the court followed suit, a quiet murmuring filling the Great Hall.

Lily fought the urge to scowl. Even on her birthday, it was all about a snake-child.

"Are you here, child?" Trelawney asked, reaching forward as she finally reached Lily. Her fingers brushed the cream of Lily's cheeks.

Lily was too frozen to flinch away.

The Seer stood for a moment in absolute silence before she swiped her hand down in a smooth, graceful movement. Lily frowned as the Seer's tongue flicked out, wetting dry lips. And then, the Seer turned to face Lily and stood, as if she could see her. Lily felt something crawl along her spine and she shook herself.

She was being unnecessarily fearful. She was a Gryffindor. Her father was First King Godric the Great Conqueror; her mother had been a Knight, an Auror in her own right. There was no reason to be afraid of a Seer.

"You... you are born of fire," Trelawney whispered, and it was clear that she did not expect an answer.

Nonetheless, Lily nodded in confirmation. She was sure that her eyes reflected her fear and awe and she took a step backwards, her shoulder colliding with a hard chest. She looked up, finding hazel eyes. James stared down at her with a tight smile on his face and gave her a soft shove of encouragement. She glared at him, knowing it was expected of her, and the shadows on his face disappeared. James' smile looked a little more natural than it had before.

"Child of Fire, come forward," the woman said.

Lily was quick to obey the command, but she felt suddenly exposed, her back presented to all who watched, including the snake-children. She stood in front of the Seer, fear running throughout her body, and she shivered. And then suddenly, a light hand was on her shoulder and finally she felt safe. She felt safer than she had ever been even in James' presence. It was as if something divine was watching over her now.

"I am Sybill Trelawney, Speaker of the Fates," the woman declared.

Lily nodded slowly, not quite understanding what was occurring and she loathed how she had skipped out on her lessons about the ceremonies of Divination and those who represented the Fates.

"Greetings, your Holiness," Lily whispered uncertainly. She ignored the mocking snort of one of the snake-children, though a slight smirk spread on her face as she heard Tom smacking one of the younger snake-children. It could not be said that Tom didn't keep his siblings in line when it was required.

The Seer did not acknowledge her greeting, of course. Instead, she snatched Lily's hand and examined the lines of her palm, tracing them with long, broken yellow nails.

"My dear girl…my poor dear girl…it is kinder…my dear girl, you have…the Grim."

Lily raised an eyebrow as she remembered the meaning of the omen of the Grim. Sirius had the Animagus form of the Grim though most saw it as an enormous black dog and Lily couldn't help but quirk a smile.

"I…thank you for letting me know of my little time," Lily said, smiling and Trelawney gave her a bewildered look.

Lily looked around the Great Hall and saw many rolling their eyes at the cheap prediction. Lily wondered quickly whether Trelawney was a fraud or not. She didn't quite understand why they was such a big deal and she looked back to ask Remus. The older boy held up a hand and pointed, discreetly, to Trelawney. Lily turned back around and was shocked to see that floating scrying bowl was in front of Trelawney now and she looked deadly serious now.

"May the coming-of-age woman approach the bowl and dip her wand," Trelawney said in raspy voice and Lily blinked as she walked forward and pulled her wand from her sleeve.

Lily touched her wand towards the unnaturally still water and suddenly ripples spread from where her wand touched the surface of the water and then the water became black. Lily gasped and Trelawney began to seize. Everyone stared in horror though two hid vicious smirks behind masks of indifference.

The Seer's head snapped forward, her glazed, glassy eyes suddenly focused. Her pupils were like pinpricks that suddenly yawned until the black overtook her eyes, so black that it reminded Lily of Death, true Death.

" _Child of Fire, Magick is strong in you_ ," Trelawney said. " _But not strong enough_."

Lily's terror solidified.

" _You... you who have been born of fire, snow, and jewel, born at summer's death, shall fall_ ," Trelawney declared, her voice rasping. " _You shall fall to the might of the coming winter and the day of ghost's return. History shall be repeated in you, blood shall be spilled onto white, and a heart shall be stolen_."

The black water exploded in Lily's face, going up her nose and filling her throat and lungs. Lily choked, writhing as the water soaked her front and her hair hairline.

Trelawney's eyes rolled around her skull and she lifted her wand, pointing it at Godric. Godric looked stricken by his only daughter's prophecy.

"Beware beauty. Fear it," Trelawney warned.

And then her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed.

The collapse of the Seer was the final straw.

The Great Hall erupted into screams and Lily felt a hand clasp around her arm. Lily shrieked and immediately pulled her wand, shouting a hex before she could even think.

" _Impedimenta_!" she hissed.

" _Protego_!" James shouted, redirecting the curse. "Merlin, Lily! It's just me. Come!"

Gasping for breath, Lily steadied as James grabbed her, holding her close, the rest of the Marauders closing rank around her. Godric rose from his throne and turned towards the other Founders, speaking quickly and quietly under the uproar of the court. James dragged her towards her father. Sirius, Remus, and Peter drew their wands, searching for the killers as if they would emerge from the stone.

"Father!" Lily shouted, throwing her arms out. Godric caught his only daughter and held her tight, kissing the top of her head over and over again. She barely paid mind to the snake-children as they approached.

"To the North Tower, my dear. You must go," Godric whispered into her ear. "Before the court realizes that you have gone. Our enemies must be here. I will have Albus hatch a plan but, for now, you must go to your room so that we can figure out a plan."

Lily trembled. "No! I must stay with you! I must—"

"Take her," Godric commanded, ignoring her words and looking towards the Marauders.

James nodded, his hazel eyes hardened into amber. He reached out and pulled Lily tight to his body, ignoring her squirms.

"Yes, my Liege. We shan't leave her side," James swore and he Disapparated with a crack, leaving two furious twins in his wake.

 **WHO IS FAIREST**

"Mother! Father! No!"

The shriek of defiance was laced with desperation and apprehension, but Karina stared at her daughter with narrowed eyes. Lily's eyes were wide and full of indignation and fear, but Karina could not show how affected she was by the sight. The Queen Consort carefully hid her worry behind the same mask of indifference which her husband could not bear to put on.

"Don't make me go! I won't go!" Lily snarled boldly. Karina felt a sharp burst of pride at her daughter's defiance, but even she knew that it was not the place for such things. She glanced at her husband.

Godric nodded. "Lily, you _must_ go. You are not safe here any longer. According to the Seer, you are being hunted. You will be killed. We do not want that. We love you too much. We don't want what happened to Helene to happen to you."

His voice was firm but it only sparked fury in Lily. The small teenager stomped her foot, immaturity in every line of her body as she shook her head, as if trying to rid it of the words that she had heard. Godric looked to James but he seemed too amused to be of much help in this situation. The King turned his attention back to his daughter, but she seemed to be attempting to burn holes into him.

And so he glared back. She was not cowed by his show of rage.

"I am capable of taking care of myself. I have magic. I know how to fight!" Lily snapped earnestly, and Karina snorted in amusement.

"Magic can't solve all your problems, Lily."

Lily's eyes narrowed at her mother's inadvertent condescension.

"You want me to go. You don't care, as long as Father is safe," Lily spat. Karina's eyes widened at the bold accusation.

Lily watched her mother's face. Hurt flashed in Karina's eyes so quickly that she couldn't tell if it was there or not, before being replaced with harshness. The elder woman crossed her arms as she regarded her daughter.

Godric's eyes narrowed as he watched his daughter. "Do not speak to your mother like that, Lily. It's—" Karina held up a hand, a peculiar smile on her face.

"No, Godric. It's okay. Lily, your Father's safety is priority, yes, but don't think I don't care. Don't _ever_ assume that".

Lily crumpled at her mother's words and she looked away.

"You being here will put you both in danger. I love you too much for that. You

must go. There's...more of a danger than you know. So please go," Karina whispered to her. The young woman shook her head, her eyes sliding shut tightly.

"Don't make me."

Lily had meant for it to come out aggressively, but she sounded like a child. Her mother's arms simply tightened and Godric moved forward to envelop them both in a tight hug.

"We must," Godric said, so apologetic.

Lily rubbed at her eyes, refusing to cry in anguish.

"Who is after me won't stand a chance again me, you, Mother, the Marauders, Albus and Aunt Rowena and Aunt Helga and Uncle Salazar! They won't! _Please_ , Father. Please," Lily begged.

Godric looked away, turning his green eyes onto the darkness of the Forbidden Forest and Lily knew, then, that her fate was sealed. Lily looked at Albus, hidden in the shadows, desperation.

"James will take you to a hidden location. You will ride instead of Apparate. Apparation is more likely to leave magical traces. Albus has suggested the Fidelius Charm and we've agreed to such measures. We have selected a Secret Keeper," Godric said. Lily looked at the grandfatherly man, utter betrayal on her face.

"Albus!" Lily whispered in despair. Albus looked away and Lily sneered. "Who, then? Who is my jailer?"

"Lily, I am, first and foremost, your king. Show me respect," Godric growled at her, his patience ending. Lily looked down at her silk slippers, letting her crossed arms fall limply at her sides.

She cleared her throat. "Who, Father?" she asked, softer than before.

"Sir Sirius Black," Albus provided.

Lily frowned and looked over at James. James scowled at the mention of his best friend's name. She tried to catch his gaze but he kept his tawny eyes trained on the ground.

"Why Sirius? Why not James?" Lily asked.

Albus hummed. "He will be the last suspected of knowing your location. You are not close to him as you are to James."

The two young people sputtered, cheeks flushing with hot, uncomfortable embarrassment.

Karina smiled as she continued to fold Lily's simpler dresses-her adventure dresses, she had called them-and placed them into a trunk. Lily shook her head, slapping at her crimson cheeks, attempting to chase the flush away. James ran a nervous hand through his already messy hair. Godric and Albus exchanged looks of amusement.

"You're...Father! Never! Close to _James_? James is an arrogant toerag," Lily spat, immediately.

James looked at her, affronted.

" _Hurtful_ ," he said, snippily, truly wounded by her words.

"Er...sorry," she apologized, swiftly, turning back to her father. "Father, I'm in way close to James."

Godric rolled his eyes. "On your day-birth, we shall celebrate, so as not to arouse suspicion. But, after, you will disappear at midnight. Albus will cast the Fidelius Charm the night before. Do you understand, my dear?" Godric asked, calmly.

Lily sighed, turning away from her father, staring out the window to the black gates that she had been curious about all her life. She had always wanted to adventure past them, but not this way. No, now she wanted nothing more than to stay trapped in Hogwarts Castle forever.

"Yes, Father. I understand."

 **OF THEM**

The gates of the Forbidden Forest loomed over Lily but, Lily didn't quiver. She was a Gryffindor. Courage boiled in her blood. This was what she told herself even though the only light provided was the full moon hanging in the sky. This was what she chanted even as the Forbidden Forest gave an eerie glow and she could hear the faint howling of the werewolves. Lily could only hope that it was just Remus.

If it was Remus, that meant he was running with Sirius and Peter, and the Marauders would never allow harm to come to her.

"Lily, are you okay?" James murmured, rubbing his leather covered hands and breathing heavily through the night-chilled air.

"I-I'm fine," Lily said through her teeth chattering. She lifted her wand, pointing it at the four heavy trunks. " _Reducio_."

She watched her trunks shrink to the size of her thumb and she swooped down, plucking them all up and dropping them into a small beaded purse. It had belonged to her mother in her youth. This would be the last thing Lily had of her mother, until she was safe.

James took Lily's limp hand and squeeze tight, pulling her towards the purebred horse, saddled and ready.

Lily glanced back at the North Tower, a light emerging. That had been her home from the day she was born. Now, it was occupied by the sickly Seer that had damned her. The thought made her stomach churn. She could see the faintest shadow. Sirius was looking, keeping watch. Lily couldn't see her Aunts and Uncle but, she could feel their overwhelming magic, oppressive and suffocating and still, so reassuring. Soon, she wouldn't be able to feel them at all.

No one was powerful enough to stretch their magic across the kingdoms.

Karina and Godric stared at her, reluctant eyes but, full of resolve. Godric moved forward, grim, and he whipped a dark grey cloak around Lily's shoulders, tucking her flaming beacon of hair into the hood, casting her into darkness. She did not look like herself; she could that in her mother's eyes. Her simple blue and olive dress was too plain, her red hair too tamed, her usually bare feet tucked into practical brown leather riding boots. Lily was not herself.

"Princess, say goodbye," James urged her.

Lily raised a hand, unable to move. Karina lunged forward, wrapping her arms in a tight hug, brushing kisses across her cheeks.

"My darling, tiger-lily. Helga will every fortnight with fresh food and stasis charms. Take care, my love," Karina whispered and Lily nodded, hugging her mother just as fiercely.

Karina finally tore herself away and Lily looked at her father with haunted green eyes. She dropped into a low curtsey, missing the look of pain in Godric's eyes.

"Why are you making me do this?" Lily whispered again.

"To protect you," Godric promised. "This is not goodbye. I will see you again, my tiger-lily. I promise. I love you."

"I love you too, Father," Lily swore and when she turned back to James, he already sat astride the horse.

He held his hand out to her but, Lily ignored it, swinging herself up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades. Godric lifted his wands and silently, the gates swung open. James made the tiniest sound and then they shot off.

The horse galloped into the dark Forbidden Forest; the only sounds were the rustling of the branches and the galloping hooves. Lily cringed as her cloak billowed out behind her and James rode hard and fast, his eyes straight forward. Lily did not have such luxury. She winced as the tree loomed over her, hiding the moon.

She had never felt such biting cold before. It was always summer on the grounds of Hogwarts. Lily oculdn't help but wonder if this was what the people felt during 'winter'. She couldn't imagine _always_ feeling the biting touch of winter. It seemed too cruel.

Another wolf howled. Lily finched.

The darkness swallowed her whole.

"I want to go home," Lily whispered, her plea lost to the whistling wind.

James glanced over his shoulder for a second, at the younger girl that clung to his back. He felt a pit of sympathy and loss. This beautiful girl, his partner-in-crime, his adventurer would be locked away. He wouldn't see her or hear her insults for a long time, he suspected. He wanted to help her but, he couldn't. The only thing James could do not was get her through the Forbidden Forest alive.

The howl grew louder and then a great terrible hiss. James could feel the horse growing skitting beneath them.

And then, suddenly, something large and hairy jumped from the shadows and James spun into action, just as Lily let out an ear-piercing scream.

The hazel-eyed knight jumped from the horse and drew his sword and wand. He knew no spells to battle beasts such as Acromantulas.

"Lily! Stay on the horse and keep her calm! I can handle this," James commanded.

Lily whispered shrill, reassuring words to the horse as James squared off with the hairy eight-legged creature. It was large, so it must be a female, he noticed. But, no it was bigger than just any female. The Alpha Female then. The Acromantula snapped its pincers at him but, James sliced his sword with valor. The Acromantula let out a loud squeal as James severed one of its enormous legs.

James laughed, throwing his head back in triumph.

"James! Pay attention!" Lily screamed, pointing.

James blinked just in time to be tackled by the crippled Acromantula. His sword was flung from his hand and Lily blinked in horror as the only thing between James' face and Acromantula's pincers were his hands and legs, attempting to kick the beast off of him. Lily pulled her wand, eyes hard.

" _ARANIA EXUMAI!_ " she shouted, the authority of Gryffindor coursing through her.

A blast of white light through the beast back and before James could recover, Lily jumped off the horse, dove for the sword and thrust blindly at the Acromantula. The Acromantula squealed again, this time with rage and Lily's eyes narrowed.

"Come and get it!" Lily snarled, furious.

The Acromantula reared, ready to attack her and Lily wasted no time. She ran forward, stabbing her sword straight into the soft underbelly of the great spider, impaling it on the broadsword. The end of the sword emerged, covered in a thick glue-like substance and Lily ripped it out, killing the Acromantula for good.

Lily stumbled back, suddenly exhausted. "Your sword," she said, loosely dropping it at James' feet. She held out her hand, pulling up, before swiftly turning away and staggering back to the horse.

"You were amazing!" James crowed, wiping the flat of his slimy blade on the dirt ground, cleaning it as best as he could. He sheathed it again and grinned at her, helping her onto the frightened horse.

"What's with the tone of surprise?" Lily said, teasing.

James laughed as they began their ride again. They rode hard and fast, and this time, no creatures of the Forbidden Forest drew them away from their path. It was near daybreak when they reached the secured location. Lily could feel when they entered the barrier of the Fidelius Charm.

They were in the middle of a clearing and there, it was warm, like the grounds of Hogwarts. So, Lily would not have to miss the eternal summer as she thought she would. Lily stared up at the tallest tower that she had ever seen in her entire life. It was taller than any of the trees of the Forbidden Forest, probably thirty stories high, and yet, she hadn't seen it from the gates.

"There's no door," Lily whispered.

James nodded, apologetic. "I have to Apparate you in. It's for your own safety," James promised, helping Lily from the horse. Lily clung to him, her exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her.

James held the princess tight and Disapparated her.

They appeared in the rounded room at the top of the tower. Lily inspected her new prison. It was lavish for a prison; a full sitting area, meant to entertain guests that she would never have. A study area full of books and paints and then, a small kitchen of sorts, an enchanted fireplace. Perhaps it was meant to Floo her parents.

More likely, it was for her to create potions. That was surprisingly thoughtful of her parents.

"Who crafted the tower?" Lily whispered.

"The Founders. They wanted you to like it," James said.

Lily sighed, looking at the stairs that presumably led up to the lofted area that was her bedroom.

"Thank you for bringing me to my prison," Lily said but, there was no anger in her voice. Just a quiet resignation. She flushed when she felt James' lips press against her forehead and her hairline.

"Thank you for saving me from an alpha female Acromantula," James said. He pulled back, a wry grin on his face. "I know the secret now. I'll visit as often as i can, if you like. I could bring the others."

Lily grinned. James was sincere in a way that no one else at court was. Not even Severus, her dear Severus that had abandoned her, was as sincere as this boy. Yes, James was arrogant and his teasing could be cruel but, he was sincere. At least, there was no arrogance in his eyes now.

Just understanding. Lily grinned, hugging him tightly. She leaned up, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

"I'd like that."

 **ALL**

Violet and crimson eyes bored into the Mirror, watching their plan crumple like wet paper. They hissed to themselves, rage boiling their blood. Bellatrix had sent the Acromantula and it had done nothing to help their plans. Only another reason to hate the idiot groundskeeper and his damned pets.

Tom stroked his loyal Nagini, her tongue flicking against his cheek, attempting to soothe his fury. He turned his gaze to his sister, drinking in her rage, and then back to the Mirror.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall whom is fairest of them all?" The softness of his voice belief the cold fury.

"You are, your Highnesses, for the Tiger-lily shall not surpass your face. Her heart is bitter and thus beauty has diminished in face. But, be afeard that another shall be born, in time's passing," the Mirror warned, the end of its rhyme dangling in the air between them.

Tom scowled. The Mirror's warning was the same as always. In time. In time.

"In time, in time," Bellatrix snarled.

Tom knew what time meant to Bellatrix.

Time meant aging. Aging meant older. Growing older meant growing ugly.

"Trelawney, we are still waiting," Tom said, coldly.

The woman hunched over in the chair, wheezing and twitching from the aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse. Bellatrix sneered, raising her wand again.

" _Crucio_ ," she bit out and the woman screamed again, her shrill cries bounce against the rounded walls of the tiny room in the foundations of Hogwarts Castle, only to be reached by a strange little door on the seventh floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

The Seer's screaming suddenly ceased and Tom held up his hand. Bellatrix ended the curse and Tom loomed over the chained woman. Trelawney gasped, raspy and guttural, her eyes swallowing the world once more.

" _The one with the power to_

 _Vanquish the Beauty approaches…_

 _Born to those who have thrice defied them,_

 _Born as the seventh month dies_

 _And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,_

 _But, he will have powers that Beauty knows not_

 _And either must die at the hand of the other_

 _For neither can live while the other survive._

 _By fairest blood, it is done, by fairest blood, it is undone._

 _Mirror, mirror, on the wall, whom is fairest of them all?"_

 _:::_

 **A/N** _ **:**_ Here is the first chapter of Fairest. It is very long. I am not used to writing long chapters like this anymore. YA novels don't have long chapters like this. BUT Game of Thrones does, and I needed to do a ton of backstory without, like, infodumping, which I probably didn't succeed at. I don't know what else to say.

Thanks for reading. Hope you review! Review is sustenance.

ALSO: If you prefer AO3, I'll probably post over there too. My name on AO3 is MaidenMotherCrone. So, like, I'll probably post Fairest tonight or tomorrow there, and you can even see my odd fic tastes, because the fics I like nowadays are _weird_.


	4. Chapter Two

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : Okay, chapter two. Here we go. I think my writing of women hasn't gotten particularly more feminist. I was a hateful adolescent, between the ages of 12 and 14, where I glorified and objectified male relationships at the expense of women. Well, no more of that bullshit. Lily's a fucking badass in her own right. Women don't need to wield swords to be strong in this story, so if that's what you're looking for, you're in the _wrong_ place.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Two

Time passed. Princess Lily was very aware of it. The walls of her round cage were marked with the days that had passed. She was bitter and tired and she knew it. Bitter and tired and alone. Her beloved Aunt Helga remained her only visitor, returning only to bring provisions. Only the walls remained to entertain her—the walls, the passing sun, memories of her childhood already beginning to blur into colours, red being the predominate shade.

The young woman's head of flames extended down to her thighs now. She slowly brushed through it as she sat in her window sill. The snow fell softly onto her ebony windowsill, and she sighed as she ran her finger over it. She lifted her hand, as if to put her hand out the window, but her fingers met the all-too-familiar barrier and she pulled away, shaking her head.

Always in.

Never out.

"Always in. Always…alone," she muttered to herself, "so quiet…silent."

She laughed harshly. Then she sighed before gritting her teeth and turning away from the window. The young woman stood and walked bare-footed to the mirror that rested against the wall. She stared at her image and couldn't help but glare at it with a twisted sense of hatred.

Snow.

Fire.

Jewel.

Lily Gryffindor was not stupid. In truth, she was rather intelligent. She knew what the damned prophecy referred to. Lily's eyes narrowed in rage as she remembered the prophecy, a prophecy that she dreamed about in the night, the words haunting her every step.

The words that had ruined her life and destroyed her family.

The prophecy that had destroyed her.

As Lily felt the hatred rise in her once again for the woman who had delivered those words, she shook her head and grabbed her hair at the roots. She tugged at it as she tried to come out of the all-consuming hatred, but it was hard. So hard when no one was there. She looked at herself in the mirror and there was no one but her. It was only her, always her, and every time she tried to remember something more, when she had had more than she could ever want, all she saw was a black void, threatening to swallow her whole. A black void and a little bird. The little bird flew.

She was alone, so alone. She had wanted to leave so badly, and now, when she was gone, she saw what she had had. And she hated herself. She hated herself for being weak and alone.

"Stop it!" Lily screamed.

She was met with a resounding silence. She reached around, retrieving a book from a shelf and threw it with all her might at the mirror. It shattered, sending shards flying out at her.

She did nothing to avoid them or stop them. With grief, she had long lost her desire to use her magic. She barely had the will to live, much less to do anything else. The young woman felt the glass slice at her cheek before continuing on its path. The pieces fell to the floor, twinkling, but Lily could hear one hit the barrier by the window. Lily shook her head and sighed before going to retrieve the broom. She wasn't a masochist.

Slowly but steadily, she swept the glass into a small pile. She sighed before going towards the window to retrieve the piece that had fallen there and then stood, looking at the fragment in wonder. Her blood had slipped from the glass to the ebony windowsill. Stray bits of snow had drifted in from the barrier.

It looked striking, the contrast of the colours.

Blood.

Snow.

Ebony.

Lily shook her head and picked up the piece of glass, tossing it onto the small pile of shards. The exiled princess picked up a rag from her small kitchen and she mopped up the small droplets of crimson. She looked out at the snowy world that surrounded her prison.

She had requested winter from the sylphs that attended the Forest, and the wind spirits had blown a blizzard to her, clouds trailing in their wake like the tails of phoenixes. They were loyal to the lonely, so it was no wonder that Lily had been the first to encounter the creatures since their time of self-exile, hiding within the dark depths of the Forest that held many secrets.

The sylphs had come to her and they had been kind to bring the snow to her, but not kind enough to keep her company. The snow, however, was beautiful.

Change was obsolete in her world, where everything was so monotonous and silence reigned supreme. She ran her finger over the cut on her cheek and stared down at the blood, reassuring herself that she was not porcelain, but was still a being of flesh and blood. Flesh and blood dried up and withered away. It died. Perhaps change was a good thing.

"Change is…good. Change means _death_. I think I'd rather like to meet _Death_ ," Lily said softly to the room, a small smile gracing her face.

"Lily, never speak those vile words again!"

Lily looked up in the direction of the voice, her deprecating smile turning acidic. She looked at the Queen of honey and milk through jaded eyes. Her bitter smile only widened at the look of intense worry on her aunt's face. She looked away. She didn't care what the woman was here for. She didn't care about anything anymore. It didn't matter.

None of it mattered.

"Hello, Queen Helga."

"Little lioness…"

"Don't call me that!" Lily snarled rabidly. Helga's eyes widened at the hostility in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Lily."

"Aren't you?" Lily retorted, acidic mockery infiltrating her voice.

"I've only come to bring you food," Helga said placating, offering the basket of food as a peace treaty. Lily scoffed, ducking her head towards the other basket of food that Helga had brought two weeks earlier, the food within still fresh from the stasis charm. It had been picked at but, not truly consumed. Helga sighed. "I wish you'd eat."

"I wish you'd leave. How do you come to be here anyway?" Lily grumbled. Helga reached for her, the younger woman flinching away.

"I wish you wouldn't hate me, tiger-lily," Helga whispered.

"I couldn't ever hate you," Lily whispered. "But, I hate what you've done to me. Your protection means nothing if I could slay myself. A well-placed Killing Curse, knives to my wrists, it is no matter."

Helga shuddered at the cold words. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Lily whispered. "I have been locked away for ten years. I'm twenty and four annuals. The time for idle threats have long past."

Helga swallowed hard. "You leave me no choice."

"I have never had choice. Why should you?" Lily asked, drifting from her aunt and going towards her bubbling cauldron. "Have you brought me the ingredients I asked for?"

"Of course," Helga said, hurriedly. "I will have to send someone to check on you everyday if you continue threatening... _that._ "

"Can't you say it, Aunt? Suicide," Lily said, a chilly smile on her face. "Who will you send? Mother? Father? I never want to see them again."

Helga shook her head. "No. You shall see," Helga promised. She crossed to Lily's side and pressed a swift kiss to her forehead. Lily stood still for it and shook herself when Helga pulled away. "I must go."

Lily faltered. "So soon?"

"The kingdoms are not at peace. Andromeda has left again and returned once more after being dragged back a second time, wreaking havoc on a village in her struggle to leave. The court is questioning our authority since we cannot keep one girl under control. There have been small rebellions whispering loyalties to a Dark Lord," Helga said, nervously.

Lily's eyes widened. "Another Dark Lord? Like the ones before your reign?" Lily whispered.

"We do not know his name. The darkness speaks in whispers though. I think he has infiltrated court...but, we are not certain," Helga said. She shook herself and stood straight, self-assured. "But, do not worry."

"I...am not," Lily lied. "But, I can do powerful magic from here. Untraceable magic. I shall try to scry in my cauldron."

Helga smiled softly. "You are a good girl, my love. I bid you farewell," Helga said, pressing two more kisses to each of Lily's cheeks before she Disapparated with a crack.

Lily turned to her cauldron, _Vanished_ her potion, and poured steaming water into it. She began to scry, searching for the face of the Dark Lord that frightened her aunt Helga, one of the most powerful witches to ever walk the Earth.

Hours passed and still she scryed for the face but, found nothing. She scryed, waiting for her babysitter to come, and when he did not come, scryed into the night. The world's elements did not matter when she needed to crack the mystery of the man that was threatening her kingdoms.

Finally, _finally,_ her trance broke when a voice rang out.

"Tiger-lily, tiger-lily, are you up there?"

The familiar voice struck Lily to her core. She rushed to the window, pressing her clammy forehead to the cool glass, ignoring the way her stomach caved in, rumbling for food that she didn't care to eat.

She glanced back at the basket and at a block of the cheese that she had favoured in her youth.

Lily jolted when she saw the shock of dark hair. She stared in complete disbelief at the familiar face that stared up, squinting to see through the window. The woman swallowed hard and stepped back, waiting for him to enter the prison that she couldn't call home.

When he lifted his tawny eyes to her emerald orbs, his smile gentled. He Disapparated with an obnoxious crack and she spun, watching him twist into being from nothingness.

"James," she breathed.

His shoulders were broader, arms more defined than before. His jaw was stronger but, his height hadn't changed much. He had always been so tall and he was two years older than her. So much had changed. He wore glasses now, probably enchanted to stay on his face, like Albus'. So much had changed. Except for that grin, full of mischief and teasing.

"Lily," he whispered, moving closer, eyes bright. " _Lily_."

Lily jerked back, her back pressed against the glass window and she shook her head. She hated herself when she felt her eyes burn and well with tears. She closed her eyes for a long moment, squeezing them tight, willing the anguish away. When she opened her eyes again, James' brow was furrowed in confusion.

 _I'll visit as often as I can, if you like._

Such _lies_.

"Princess? Lily?" James asked, worry in the lines of his body. He took a step closer.

Lily drew her wand.

"You stay away from me," she spat. She was shaking. She had to stop _shaking_. "You lied to me!"

"I would never—"

"You didn't visit me!" Lily shouted.

James swallowed. "I'm sure Queen Helga told you. There have been disturbances throughout Albion—"

"For ten years, James! Ten years you left me alone to rot!" Lily snarled.

James sighed, remorse and grief conflicting on his face. "Lily, there has been unrest from the moment you disappeared. I wish I could—"

"How would I know, James? I am isolated here! I do not know what happens outside this tower! What happens in the world... _this_ is my world. And I'm only the person in it!" Lily shouted, and she could feel the power and fire sparking in her, threatening to overwhelm. She gasped for breath, her green eyes glowing, the flames near the cauldron growing.

"Lily, everything we do is to _protect_ you! Your mother mourns you as if you were dead! Your father is not the same. He is solemn and silent. Every day without you, the fire within them dies more and more. Please, understand—" James said, alarmed.

It was meant to reassure, to reaffirm their promise to her. That she would see them again. But, it only enraged her, sending a heat down her spine.

"Leave," she snarled, the heat of a dragon filling her voice, the heart of a lioness beating in her chest.

James faltered. "I have to stay with you for at least an hour, every day. Lily, you can't—"

"Don't tell me what I mean!" Lily roared. The flames exploded, the water bursting into steam and filling the tower room. Lily swallowed, calming herself and stowing her wand away before she cursed the Auror. Softer, she said, "What I can and can't do. All my _life_ I've been told these things and look at me now. Come back tomorrow."

James swallowed and nodded, shakily. The desperation for some semblance of control was in her voice. This was the one thing she could control. And James would grant her that. He'd give her anything.

"Tomorrow, Princess?" he asked, voice so soft she barely heard it.

Lily turned away, her shoulders trembling with suppressed sobs. "Tomorrow," she choked out.

James stared at her back, regretful and he shook himself. She was so thin, only skin and bones, her dress hanging off of her loosely. Her exposed shoulder was so sharp. And yet, her hair was still bright like flames, as he remembered them. She was still his tiger-lily, his partner-in-crime, his adventurer.

He would just have to remind her.

James Disapparated with a crack. The moment he was gone, Lily fell to her knees and wept.

 **TIGER-LILY, TIGER-LILY**

Lily sat down in the window seat, running a brush down her long reddish-brown hair. She looked out at the falling snow with blank copper eyes, immersed in her thoughts. She couldn't help but think on her outburst the day before and couldn't help but hate that she was embarrassed about it.

"Tiger-lily, tiger-lily, are you up there?"

Lily heard the shout and looked down to see a reluctant James Potter. He was leading a familiar horse to the side of the tower. He couldn't have taken a direct route to the tower as there were still be people searching for her. She wondered how long it had taken for him to reach her without tipping them off.

"I'm up here. I'm _always_ up here!" Lily roared, though she couldn't help but smile at the stupid question. Only James would ask something like that in an attempt to make her feel better. It reminded her of how it used to be, when she had been a child still.

James stared up at her, surprised that she had answered. His incredulity turned into a bright grin and he dismounted so quickly that he almost fell to the ground in his haste. Lily laughed again—she was surprised, that she could still laugh—and tried to swallow it when she heard the tell-tale crack of Disapparation.

She turned her head and stared as James appeared out of nothingness. He stared at her, stricken for a long moment.

"What?" Lily teased. It was awkward coming out of her mouth. She hadn't teased anyone in such a long time.

James swallowed, looking ather glorious mane. It was bright red, thick, and shiny. It fell past the window seat. When she was standing, it probably fell past her knees even.

"Your hair is still so beautiful," James whispered and he flushed in embarrassment.

Lily smirked. "You still aren't very charming, are you?"

James swallowed and took the out. "I'll have you know the ladies of the court think I'm perfectly charming!" he squawked.

"Mhmm," Lily hummed, disbelieving. She looked back out the window, down at the horse waiting patiently. "What is your horse's name? I've forgotten."

"Cleansweep. He's a very good horse," James said, Summoning a chair from the sitting area and swinging down to sit in it, slouching and wrinkling his robes.

"I remember that. He brought me here. So brave while I slew an Acromantula," Lily said, smirking. James returned her grin, helplessly.

"Aye, he was. You did," James said. His smile faltered. "I am sorry, Lily. You were right. I lied. I should've visited you."

"Aye, you should have," Lily allowed.

James swallowed. "I'll make it up to you. There's much I want to tell you. Not that I particularly should but, you deserve to know. You've always deserved to know. This tower isn't your world."

Lily flushed, looking away. "Please don't repeat the terribly embarrassing things that I confessed yesterday. It was humiliating enough that you saw," Lily whispered.

"It was brave. You were vulnerable and that's _brave_ ," James said, so fiercely sure of his words that Lily believed him. "I owe you an explanation."

"Then explain." Lily leaned forward, setting her brush down. "I know nothing, James. Tell me: how is Mother and Father? Truly? Not the bullshit Helga feeds me. And how is Salazar and Rowena? And my Fawkes?"

Lily felt desperation as she thought upon her beloved phoenix, her Fawkes, who came and went as he pleased but, had always been hers.

Lily stared into his hazel eyes. They were always the most beautiful part of him, blue and green and brown, and still so light that they looked amber in Hogwarts' eternal summer. She had dreamed of those eyes. She would never admit it.

"Fawkes is well. He is mostly gone. When he is at Hogwarts, he mourns you, trilling forever. But, he stays at Albus' side. He knows where his loyalties lie. Queen Rowena still mourns Princess Helena, as she will under the end of her days. Besides this, she lives and breathes and fights. King Salazar remains cold but, there is sadness in him. Queen Consort Karina speaks of you everyday. She has resumed her position as Commander of the Archers. She speaks of you...but, not in front of King Godric. He misses you most of all. He aches without you, Lily. You were the flame, the light of the palace," James said, all earnesty. Lily frowned.

She didn't want to know how they felt about her exile.

"Mother has resumed her military position?" Lily asked.

James hesitated. "I'll...get to that."

Lily sighed, impatiently and nodded. "Then, how is the rest of your band of merry knights? The Marauders," Lily asked, her lips quirking into a smile despite herself. Her constant companions since she was young girl, the Marauders.

"Well, we're doing all right. We finished our map, by the way! And we were all...promoted, I guess. I think you'll pleased to know that we are all members of the Order of the Phoenix," James said, puffing his chest out, proudly.

"What? Phoenix?" Lily asked.

"You mother called you 'phoenix'. Do you remember?" James asked.

Lily nodded. "Of...of course, I remember."

"Yes, well, we couldn't call it the Order of the Lily. It would have been too obvious. Bellatrix and Tom Marvolo aren't fools," James said, hatred permeating his voice as he spoke of Lily's 'cousins'.

Lily's eyes widened.

"The twins?"

"Bellatrix and Tom Marvolo have always been...off. But, Albus Dumbledore—he's our leader—suspects that _they_ are the ones who want to kill you. They know you are not dead as we attempted to pretend. We believe that there are aware of everything, expect where you are located. Sirius doesn't spend time with us in public anymore. We can risk him as the Secret Keeper to your...prison," James said and Lily froze at his choice of words.

She looked at him and he looked back, remorse and understanding.

He knew what this was. A prison, not a salvation.

Lily smiled. James smiled back. And then his smile withered because he caught the look of death that lingered in the shadows beneath her eyes. She was dying.

She wasn't going to live another year.

"Princess...you have to eat. You have to get better," James whispered.

Lily closed her eyes. "I don't recall what it is like to feel. This tower's going to be my grave and there's no one who can save me," Lily whispered.

"You can save yourself," James hissed. Lily's eyes flashed open. "You're right, no one can save you. No can give you the will to live. Except, yourself."

Lily stared at him. "I know."

James sat in his chair, dumbstruck. Lily knew that she was on a course to absolute destruction. She was lonely and hurt, her soul festering with bitterness and self-pity and rage. She was still achingly beautiful but, her disposition was heartbreakingly ugly.

"You know. Lily, you have to eat. You're so thin, I can count your bones. I can tell that you don't sleep. We want the best for you," James said, firmly.

" _THIS ISN'T WHAT'S BEST FOR ME!_ " Lily roared.

This time, James was prepared for the fire to crackle and rage behind him. He didn't flinch or jump.

Coldly, he said, "Don't you think I know that now?"

Lily recoiled. She closed her eyes, swallowing her sobs. "How long can I live this way?" she asked, desperately. "Can't you let me go? I'm sick of shadows, James. I want to see the sky. Why can't I?"

"One day you will," James promised and he crossed the room, kneeling by her side, pressing his head into her lap. Lily let her hand fall into his hair. She had forgotten how soft his hair was.

James waited for the distraught woman to speak.

"It rains but I can't feel it. The wind is cold and yet, I can't feel it. I want to feel the rain on my face, James. The wind through my hair. I've been waiting...for so _long_. I've been waiting for the day I'll die and it's coming. I've been told that I'll die before I'm old...and before I go...I wish to feel how cold the wind is," Lily whispered. These were words that she had thought and prayed over her years, but she had never spoken them aloud.

James was uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable being confronted with Lily's mortality. Lily had long gotten over such things.

"You will save yourself, Princess Lily Gryffindor of Albion. And I will help you. This, I swear on my honor as a Knight and Auror," James whispered, kneeling before his princess.

Lily hummed, stroking his hair.

"How does one save someone that doesn't want to be saved?" Lily asked.

"We try," James said, fiercely. Lily's lips curled into a tiny smile. "We _try_ every day until you're okay. I promise."

 **LET DOWN**

Every day, they tried.

Every day, James returned and sat with the broken, grieving princess and they spoke, driving her loneliness away. He watched her chase the shadows away; she laughed, sometimes, and her eyes were bright, nearly as bright as the flames on her crown. It was slow and sometimes, she retreated into her shell, cracking nary a smile but, she healed. She pulled her broken pieces together and fashioned herself into something stronger than the porcelain she had been. Now, she was tough and beautiful as ivory.

He was reminded of her quick wit and her fast tongue. Even locked away in a tower, her intelligence had only grew and she had become a powerful Potions Mistress in her boredom. He was impressed by her, bewitched by her.

In turn, Lily had felt her own attachment to James reforming and growing. Whether it was due to him being her only companion or the fact that he was lovely, her feelings grew past those of their childhood companionship into something far deeper than she had ever felt before.

It felt as if they had never parted.

It was easy. It was enough.

They amused each other with silly games and James regaled Lily with stories of the Marauders, stories that had occurred in her absence. Lily retold memories of when Lily had been with the Marauders, revealing pranks and plots that even James had not been privy to.

As Lily's humanity returned, her loneliness departed.

James reported his progress to Queen Helga and she was pleased and eager to see the child that she had missed. Lily was more than surprised that, eight weeks after she had last seen Helga, the woman was accompanying James.

The princess looked from her tower, catching sight of the woman of milk and honey, perched behind James on Cleansweep. Helga Disapparated with barely a shift, startling Cleansweep and James both. Lily spun and her lips twitched.

Helga grinned; that had been the most emotion, besides rage, that Lily had shown Helga in at least six years. Despite her grin, Lily was quick to note the strain in her eyes. Helga had gained wrinkles in the last eight weeks. Strands of silver streak through her honey colored hair. Her bones screamed of exhaustion.

"Lily," Helga murmured, taking a step forward.

"Aunt Helga," Lily said, stiffly, unsure. She looked away from Helga for just a moment, staring down from her window seat at James and Cleansweep.

James grinned up at her. Lily couldn't help her tender smile. She heard Helga's sharp gasp and Lily turned, sending the woman a glare. Helga's gaze was soft.

"You love him," Helga whispered.

Lily stilled and swallowed. She could feel and Lily had forgotten how strong and _damning_ emotions were. The sadness in her eyes overwhelmed Helga. The Western Queen of Albion looked away.

"I do," Lily breathed. "And that man's going to be my death because he's all I've ever wanted in my life. He chokes over my name and I know that all the girls are the same to him. He has told me enough of his exploits for me to know this. But, that's doesn't matter."

Helga swallowed. "Why doesn't it matter?"

"I still have to get out of this place because I don't know if I can face another night," Lily confessed, and it felt like a breath of fresh air to say it out loud without raging or crying.

Helga glared out of the window. "He said that you were getting better," Helga accused.

"Did he tell you that I was dying from the loneliness and pain? Did he tell you how much I hated before he came? Did he tell you that I'm sick of shadows? And that I can't see the sky? Did he tell you how I wonder and ask myself, why everyone else can watch the tide come in but I can't?" Lily asked, her voice calm and kind and Helga blinked in shock, turning back to her 'niece'.

Helga shook her head. "No."

"Aunt Helga, I want to feel the rain on my skin. I want to feel the wind instead of just hearing it and knowing that it's there. I've been waiting for the day, I will surely die, for I've been told that I'll die before I'm old. And in death, I hope I will feel the wind," Lily said, morbidly.

Helga reached for the younger woman's hands and was shocked when Lily didn't pull her wand on her. No, Lily stared at her with solemn green eyes, the color of summer.

"But, it's...there's more. There's willow trees and little breezes, walls, and flower. And there's moonlight, every single night, even in this tower. There's the small things," Lily said and she smiled, brightly. "So, I'll meet my death. But, with my last breath, I'll sing him to my love. And then I shall meet my end. But, not yet. I'm okay."

Helga swallowed, unsure. Just weeks before, Lily had been so enraged, and now she was at peace, resigned to her fate. Helga wasn't sure which she preferred.

"I must get back to the palace," Helga breathed. "There are many things happening. There have been attacks along the Eastern border and Rowena is hardpressed to stop them alone. She's on the frontlines with your mother. It's only skirmishes, for now, along the forest edges and the river banks but, someone is challenging our reign. Have you had luck in scrying?"

Lily swallowed. She refused to confess that she had forgotten after James began to visit.

"No luck," Lily apologized. "But, I can brew, Aunt Helga. No one is as good a brewer, except, perhaps, Severus Snape. Has he been brewing for you?"

Helga pursed her lips. "For Tom Marvolo and his band of savages only. They do not fight...if they fight, they slaughter everything in their path, leaving more bloodshed than necessary. It is for the best."

Lily nodded in understanding. "Well, then," she said. "Send James along with a list of potions and ingredients. I will brew for you."

Helga leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Lily's forehead. "Thank you, my love. Goodbye," Helga whispered, pulling a Portkey from her satchel and Lily watched her disappear in a swirl of light.

Lily let out a heavy sigh, a weight on her shoulders. War was brewing and, she was the only one not in battle. She could not get angry. No, she would do what she could from her tower. Lily tucked a strand of hair up in her elaborate bun. She had missed them, and began to wear her hair up atop her head the more James visited. It reminded her of the Southern style of her youth, the way her mother used to do her hair when she was not going to battle.

"Tiger-lily, tiger-lily, are you up there?"

Lily grinned at James' shout.

"I'm up here!" she shouted, and there was the loud crack again.

James appeared in her room and Lily stared at him, masking the burning affection that coiled through her body. Merlin, James was handsome. He looked like he had been training, cheeks flushed, hair sticky against his forehead. She wondered briefly what he looked like under his robes. All hard muscle and if he was to be believed, a nice cock. Lily hid her flush.

She had never thought such things. She had never _experienced_ such things, and yet here she was, her folds growing wet, want coiling in her belly.

"Hey, Princess. I was thinking," James said as he flopped down onto his chair and slumped, relaxed.

"Merlin forbid," Lily bit out, chewing at her bottom lip.

James glared at her before continuing. "It's been almost ten years since the Marauders have seen you and you've seen them. And we talk about them so much, I thought that you might like a visit. Maybe, Samhain, yeah?"

Lily stared at him. He was nervous. James was never nervous. And he was staring at the curve of her neck, his gaze tracking her lips, her hair, her nose, the curve of her breasts. Everything but her eyes.

"Why are you here, James? Why are you trying so hard?" Lily asked, softly. James blinked in surprise and finally, he looked her in the eye.

"You're alive, Lily," James murmured, gesturing towards the looking glass.

Lily looked at herself, examining her reflection with a critical eye.

Bright red hair was piled high upon her head, braided and twisted in the Southern style. Her dress, made of simply brown and green cotton swept to the floor, short enough to reveal her bare toes. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright. She was alive. But, she craved more. She wanted him even if he could never want her back.

"I'm alive with nothing to live for. Isn't that worse than just dying?" Lily asked.

James moved forward, standing behind her in the mirror. Lily's breath caught in her throat as she felt the heat of his chest pressed against her back. His hands—big strong hands—pressed against her hips, holding her tight. Lily caught his gaze in the mirror. His hazel eyes darkened. Lily wondered. _Was this what lust looked like_?

"And I could let you die. If that's what you want," James whispered, resignation in his voice.

"What?" Lily whispered.

"If you really believe your existence has no meaning, if you truly believe that, I will let you go. But, you will get out of here. And out there...there's a whole world out there. Great cities and art and music but here...here in this tower, there is genuine beauty," James promised and Lily froze as James pressed his cheek to the top of her head and inhaled, as if he were getting drunk on her scent.

"James," Lily breathed. James' hands tightened on her hips.

"You've only seen the ugliness of everything but, in this tower, more radiant than anything I've seen in the world, is you. You are so strong, Lily. Beautiful in your strength. But, if you truly want to go...I'll let you go," James murmured. Lily turned and looked up at him, staring into his dark eyes.

"Ask me to live," Lily begged.

James frowned in confusion. "What?" he whispered.

"I don't want to die," Lily whispered, brokenly.

James' lips curled into a smile of wonder and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. Lily tilted her head up and their lips met. It was a sweet kiss, innocent and nearly chaste.

And then James was shoving Lily back into the mirror, following after her, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Lily whined into his mouth, her fingers clawing over his shoulders as she kissed him back. It was sloppy at first, but Lily began to follow James' motions, falling into a rhythm, her tongue chasing his. They broke for air, panting, smiling with kiss-swollen lips.

"Do you...you've never...coupled with anyone," James said, his cheeks flushed.

Lily shook her head. "No. But, I've read...a lot."

"Reading dirty smut, eh, Lily?" James teased.

Lily's eyes narrowed. "You shut your mouth, Potter," Lily drawled before she pulled him in, losing herself to the fervor of passion and lust. She whimpered into his mouth again, moaning. Hands ripped at cloth, her nimble fingers unbuttoning his robes and jerkin, sliding them off his shoulders.

Lily pulled back again, running her hands up and down his bare chest, fascinated. She ran her fingers along his strong biceps, over his leather wand holster. James was as muscular as she imagined him, his abdomen and pectoral muscles well-defined. James wasn't a hairy man. Just a trail leading down to the bulge in his tight trousers. Lily's mouth-watered. She slowly looked up from James' hard cock and met his eyes. His pupils were blown with lust. He hungered for her.

"Tiger-lily, tiger-lily, let down your hair?" James whispered.

Lily breathed heavily, nodding. She pulled her wand from her bodice and summoned the hairpins into her hand. She felt the long braids fall around her face, and Lily dropped her wand, making quick work of the braids, tugging her fingers through thick redhair until it spilled around her, a halo of fire.

"Merlin...you're…" James trailed off as Lily tugged at the laces of her bodice and corset, just enough for the dress to come loose around her. She yanked it down, letting it fall to her feet and she pulled her chemise over her head, leaving her bare. James swallowed. "Fuck, Lily."

"Yes, fuck," Lily whispered.

James nodded as he drank her in. She was not a curvy woman; she never would be. But, he was enraptured with the dip of her waist, her bony thighs, her full breasts, the thatch of bright red hair between her legs. James took a deep breath through his nose.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he swore. "You are like fire."

"Fire burns, James," Lily teased, as if speaking to a simpleton.

James grinned and grabbed her by the waist, hoisting her up. Lily squeal, laughing, wrapping her legs around his waist. He stared up at her, nuzzling his cheek to her breasts.

"Then burn me, woman," he whispered, licking at the underside of her breast. Lily mewled as he sucked at her skin, setting her alight.

The fire beneath the cauldron burned hotter.

"Make love to me, James?" Lily begged, rocking against him, her folds dripping and James carried her forward, letting her slip down to the ground. She wobbled on shaky legs, taking him by the hand and dragging him towards the stairs and up to the lofted area. She paused as she stared at the bed. "I...I don't know…"

"Lay on your back, Lily," James whispered.

Lily nodded and crossed to the bed, laying back nervously, her fists clenched by her side. James stared at her for a long moment, undoing his trousers and pushing them down. Lily's breath caught in her chest and her heart pounded harder. His cock was not... _small_. Were all men's cocks large like that? Lily bit her lower lip, her cheeks flaming.

"Do you still want this?" James asked, one knee on the edge of the bed. "We don't have to. You're in control."

"I want this," Lily said, immediately, staring at him with brilliant green eyes. "Make me feel, James. Make me _feel_."

James nodded and slid onto the bed, grabbing her by her knees and slowly spread her legs. Lily mewled as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, sucking at the sensitive flesh. She gasped, back arching as he moved up, pressing his tongue against her folds. Her thighs clenched around his ears.

"James... _what_... _oh_!" Lily gasped as she felt his tongue against her, tasting her, pleasuring her.

 _This_ was not in any of her books.

James looked up, grinning, hazel eyes bright. "No words, Lily. I'm making you _feel_." He bent his head again and resumed his work.

And Lily felt that night. The fire raged in the fireplace, brighter than ever, the torches making the room as bright as the sun, as he brought her to climax with his tongue, and then entered her, all for her pleasure. He drove into her, all for the pursuit of _her_ pleasure, her feeling. She felt bliss as her back arched in completion, her moans all born of gratification.

"I love you, I love you, James. _James_ ," only spurred him to go faster, to touch her, feel her, burn his hands as he showed her how much he loved her back.

That night, she felt more than she had in ten years.

And then, when he whispered, after the embers died, "I love you too," she felt more than she had in her entire life.

 **YOUR HAIR**

"Tiger-lily, tiger-lily, are you up there?"

His call made her smile. She didn't look up from her book as she leaned against the glass. She already knew he'd be grinning, as per usual and it'd make her weak. Six months of loving someone desperately would do that to a person.

"James, where else would I be?" she shouted back, knowing perfectly how well he could hear her.

But, there was a faint chorus of familiar laughter and Lily's eyes widened. She threw back her head and grinned, vibrating. The flames in the fireplace danced. They were here. Of course, they were here. It was perfect. She could tell them. Would tell them all. Lily steeled herself for the deafening crack of multiple people Apparating and then, suddenly, the Marauders were in her tower.

The Marauders visited from time to time, but it had been two months since the last time, as they had gone off to battle, in the South, this time.

Sir Remus Lupin caught her attention first. He looked older than their shared years of twenty and four, nearly five now. His sandy blond hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, streaked with grey. His face was heavily lined. Lily wasn't sure if it was the toil of his curse or the war that wore on him. He had a stack of books under one arm. Lily turned to Sir Sirius Black and grinned.

His black hair was much longer, the heavy braid reaching the small of his back. He smirked back at her in amusement, winking flirtatiously. So, at least, he was the very same.

Sir Peter Pettigrew, the fat little boy, had become a man. He was still short but, war had hardened the fat into the muscle. He still possessed the same mousy brown hair and watery blue eyes, and always in their youth, he was pouting. Sirius had probably teased him. Lily laughed to herself at the thought.

Finally, Lily directed her gaze to James. He smiled at her. Lily held out her hand and James took it. She yanked him forward, leaning up for a long, sweet kiss, sucking at his bottom lip. She ignored Sirius' whoops and when she pulled back James was grinning.

"What a lovely hello," James breathed. "Hello, Lily."

Lily grinned back at him. "Hello, James," she whispered. Lily turned to the Marauders and held out her hands. "Good day, Marauders!"

Before they could collapse atop her with hugs, she nearly sidestepped them and walked towards the sitting area, collapsing into the loveseat. James frowned in confusion and followed her, searching her. She was not laughing or teasing yet. Something _had_ to be wrong.

"Lily is something wrong?" James asked.

Sirius snorted in amusement, shaking his head. "Of course there's something wrong! She has to see _your_ ugly mug."

"Shut up, Sirius," Lily and Remus snapped.

They exchanged surprised looks before they grinned again. Another thing from the past. They were still the two most mature members of their little group. Lily frowned when all of the Marauders gave James a look, as if daring him to do something.

"Lily, I brought you the books you asked for," Remus said. Lily gave him a beautiful smile and she leaned forward, taking the offered books from the awkward man.

"Thank you, Remus. You're perfect," Lily murmured. She flipped through the old Potions books, nodding as she saw the potions that Helga had requested. She had been busy brewing Skelegro, common poison antidotes, and uncommon poison antidotes. But, she thought it might be time to help a little more offensively.

"And the ingredients for more Skelegro, pepper-up, and blood-replenishing potions. Enough for a ton of F-Felix Felicis too," Peter stammered, offering the basket. Lily nodded.

"Just put it over by the kitchen," Lily said, barely looking up from the books, attempting to find her nerve. She cursed herself in her mind. She was a bloody Gryffindor, dammit.

"Lily...I love you," James blurted out. Lily smiled.

"I should hope so. Do you have something new to tell me?" Lily asked, almost unsure.

James frowned. Hyper aware, he noticed how off her tone was.

"Do you have something new to tell me?" he challenged.

"It's...important. But, it can wait," Lily said, hurriedly.

"No, you go first," James insisted.

"No, it's fine. You go. Less important goes first," Lily protested.

"I bet mine is more important," James huffed.

"Oh for Merlin's sake! Say it at the same time!" Sirius whined.

Lily glanced at him, frowning. Sirius' grey eyes were wide with excitement. Remus was holding him by his shoulders, keeping the Black from bouncing up and down like a rabbit. James nudged Lily, and she shrugged.

"Okay," Lily sighed. "One. Two. Three."

"Will you marry me?"

"I'm with child."

They stopped, staring at each other in bewilderment. Peter's mouth fell open in utter shock. Sirius crashed to the floor, falling out of his leap of excitement and Remus blinked, owlishly. Lily smiled and nodded.

"Oh, yes. Of course, I'll marry you, James," she said, brightly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

James swallowed. "You're...with child?"

"Yes."

"My child?"

Lily glared.

"Well, who else's child would it be? There's no one else in a ten-mile radius," she snarled in irritation. James put his hands up in surrender, going through the motions.

The Auror blinked, finally processing Lily's words.

"I'm…" he swooned, falling off the couch in a dead faint.

Lily rolled her eyes and stood, primly stepping over his body and crossing to her cauldron. She looked over her shoulder at the stock still Marauders. "Someone _Rennervate_ him. And come help me. This Skelegro won't bottle itself."

:::

 **A/N:** Here's the next chapter. I'M ON A ROLL. Okay, I posted to AO3 but, I might take it off because I don't really like the idea of having fic there. I don't know why, I'm just weird. Anyway, I hope you like this.

PLEASE considering _reviewing_!

Also, I'd like to know how many of you read the first 'Fairest'. Just curious.


	5. Chapter Three

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : Okay, chapter three. I added tons of stuff where I did the telling instead of showing. I think it made it cooler. We'll see.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Three

Months passed and Lily's stomach grew bloated with the child that would be heir to a throne that wouldn't ever claim for herself. And despite the war that waged on, James was with her at every possible moment. When he wasn't, the appointed bodyguards of her youth were. Sirius, the godfather of her unborn child, swore to protect her until he was stripped of his marrow and Remus watched for danger with the shrewd eyes of a wolf.

As Lily grew, so did the danger in her life. The war waged on, ravaging across Albion, destroying the Forbidden Forest, and still, Lily scryed for the Dark Lord that was whispered about to no avail. When the time came for the birth, Lily knew she couldn't do it by herself.

James had Sirius bring to her the spymaster and the great advisor, Albus Dumbledore, Gideon's most trusted Healer, Madame Pomfrey, and Albus' right hand and the Head of Household at Hogwarts, Madame McGonagall. They visited often, wishing the young woman well, and Lily's depression disappeared into the past.

Helga no longer visited, called away to the frontlines as Commander of the Calvary, and so their secret child was kept just that.

A secret.

The day that Lily's water broke was the day the seventh month died.

James stood at her side, his hand bone white from how hard Lily clenched it. He paled even more, utterly ashen as Lily screamed, blood staining their mattress and the rags red. Madam Pomfrey and Madame McGonagall stood between her legs, attempting to coax the child out to no avail.

"Why won't he come _out_?" Lily shrieked, let out another roar as she tried to push.

Pomfrey frowned and pointed at James. "Mop her face and keep the hair out of her eyes," she commanded. James looked at her, frantic and Pomfrey rolled her eyes. "Nevermind. Minerva, you do it. Men are useless in such situations. This is why you should be with Albus."

"No, no," Lily begged, clinging tighter to James as McGonagall moved to her other side and pulled her drenched hair from her face, mopping at the sweat with a clean rag. "Don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere," James squeaked as Lily let out another roar. The flames burned brighter, lighting the room more and more.

Pomfrey looked up again. "He's starting to crown, love. He's got lots of hair. Ring of fire. You have to push when you feel it. Is it coming again?" Pomfrey asked.

Lily whimpering, biting her lower lip bloody and she nodded. "Yes, yes, _yes_!" she screamed as she pushed, the ripping agony tearing through her lower body. James let out a yelp as she squeezed hard and long.

"Yes, yes, keep going!" McGonagall encouraged.

Lily screamed louder as she pushed, and the flames grew brighter. James looked out of the building and he gasped. The entire kingdom looked like it was on fire; every flame that existed throughout Albion burned brighter and brighter as his son tried to enter the world. Lily's scream tore through him, the veins strained on her neck, her face a bright red.

"Yes, yes, his shoulders, now! Come on, Princess! Your Highness!" Pomfrey encouraged and Lily's scream grew ragged, her voice gone as she pushed harder and harder, her legs spreading and then Pomfrey crowed.

Suddenly, the room was cast into darkness.

"W-what's happening?" James whispered into the darkness. He looked towards the window but, saw nothing but darkness. It was as if the entire world had gone dark for that moment, nothing but blackness and night.

" _Lumos_ ," McGonagall cast.

The tip of her wand glowed white. Pomfrey held the bloody child in her hand. James' heart stopped. The baby was not crying or moving.

Lily whimpered. "M-my baby," she rasped, her voice lost. "My son…"

"He's not…" James stopped.

Pomfrey held up her hand and slapped the baby's bottom and then their son entered the world with a wail. As soon as his cry cut through the airs, the flames roared, raged, burning just as hot as they had for his mother. James gasped and he looked up.

Albus Dumbledore stood at the mouth of the stairs, his electric blue eyes bright.

"Fire begets fire," Albus whispered. "What will you name him?"

Lily held out her hands, moaning, and Pomfrey smiled as she finished wiping blood and fluids from the child's face before she wrapped him in warm blankets, ignoring his wails. Pomfrey leaned forward, placing him in Lily's arms.

"Are you strong enough to…" James started.

"I am strong enough for this," Lily said, firmly. She stared at her boy and knew then that the boy in her arms was the single most enchanting thing in Albion.

He had eyes that glittered like emeralds, not unlike her own. His skin was the color of snow, just as hers had been, but instead of having a head full of fire as his mother, the babe had inherited his father's messy ebony-colored hair.

"What is his name?" Albus asked again.

Lily cleared her throat. "He deserves a prince's name. Hadrian James Gryffindor-Potter, Prince of the South, Heir of Albion. How does that sound?" Lily breathed.

James swallowed as he felt the power radiating from his son. He slid closer on the bed, staring down at the scrunched face. He could hear the crackling of the fire and he looked at his wife.

"He deserves a warrior's name too. They will talk about this night, Lily. The night that light was extinguished, only be born again with his cry. Fire begets fire. They will call him Harry Wildfyre for this night."

And so, Harry Wildfyre, Prince of the South, was named. And that night, a phoenix burst into ashes and was reborn, and a petrified egg of old stirred, long forgotten.

And despite it all, Harry Potter was, above all, loved.

 **MIRROR, MIRROR**

But, still, a war waged.

Bellatrix and Tom Marvolo had grown older without the warm heart of Lily Gryffindor. Bellatrix began to wither, grey streaks interrupting her luscious black hair. Her skin grew spotted and papery, wrinkling. Lines embedded deeply in Tom Marvolo's face, and his thick head of hair thinned. Madness gripped their souls as they became uglier with age.

With shattered minds, they told themselves that before their coming deaths, they would take as many with them into that darkness called mortality.

It was a massacre.

With their Knights of Walpurgis and their younger sisters, the twins destroyed the Hogwarts Guard and murdered King Godric and the Queen Consort. Tom Marvolo had the Queen Consort on her knees and made her watch Godric's beheading and then murdered her. Their youngest sister, Narcissa, murdered Queen Helga in bloodthirsty fury, impaling her on a war scythe and Andromeda ended her with a merciful Killing Curse.

Before Bellatrix could land a killing blow on her father, Tom Marvolo ended the massacre.

"You will leave now," he decided, ignoring Bellatrix's squawk of despair. He looked upon Rowena and Salazar with crimson eyes, hard as rubies.

"Why?" Andromeda asked, the only merciful Slytherin child, hardened by her years and yearning to leave. "What have you to gain? What will our mercy do for them?"

"It is not mercy. They will suffer," Tom Marvolo said. When he looked into Rowena's eyes, the hatred he saw brewing was more powerful and darker than anything he'd ever seen except in a mirror.

It made him smile.

"How so? Haven't you already done enough?" Rowena snarled, twitching, attempting to move her Petrified arm.

Tom Marvolo lifted her wand, pressing the tip between her eyes. "You will live," he commanded, "knowing that the murderer of your precious daughter lives. You will live, knowing that you have lost. And you will live, knowing you could never have and never _can_ do anything about it. And you, Father. You will live, knowing that you failed your children."

And Salazar broke. Rowena bared her teeth as she saw her brother-in-arms crumple.

"I will kill you, Tom Marvolo Slytherin," Rowena vowed. "I will avenge my daughter, my sisters, my brother, and every soul you murdered here today. I will bring to you ten times the pain that you have wrought on me."

Rowena stood on broken dreams and bleeding legs and limped from the Great Hall, leaving Salazar with his snake-children.

Brokenly, Salazar asked, "Have I really failed you all? As a father, I did my best."

Three of his children had nothing to say. One did.

Andromeda lifted her head, tall and proud and whispered, "You didn't protect me from _him_." She growled with fury, pointing at her father. "Did you even wonder why I ran? Did you even care where I had gone? None of us ever wanted this! Once upon a time, we were children. We weren't animals. Savages. But, they have made us the monsters of their fairy stories. They gossiped and ostracized us. Didn't you wonder why?"

Salazar took a step back. "No," he said.

Andromeda frowned. "Then you've made a grievous miscalculation."

Tom Marvolo stared at his father and said, "This is why I let you go. I want you to be the last. I want you to witness what you have made. On the day before my fifteenth annual, I was called Kingmaker. But, you are my maker, and you shall see what you've wrought. I will not be old and broken as you. We do not flee Death as you do. Death flees from us."

And out of hatred and petty revenge, Tom Marvolo allowed the remaining Founders to flee with just their lives, the clothing on their backs, and the promise that they would return.

The Marauders, in their haste to protect the remaining heirs to the throne, pledged their loyalty to the Slytherin and vowed that they would never cross them. They would protect the Princess Gryffindor and her son, Harry Wildfyre. Out of fear for the heirs, the Secret Keeper was changed, as the Slytherins knew of Sirius' closeness to James, and James' closeness to Lily. Three were honest about their intentions and liars about their loyalty.

One was not.

That night, Bellatrix was crowned Queen Bellatrix the Beautiful, Empress of the Four Directions of Albion, Lady of Hogwarts, and the Fairest of them All.

At her right hand, out of shadows, the Lord Voldemort emerged. Tom Marvolo was no more, leaving only the Dark Lord that the world had feared. The fearsome twins named their two sisters, Narcissa and Andromeda, Princesses of Albion, and Wardens of the East and West, respectively.

With their hellish deed done, Andromeda swore never to return and rode out to the stronghold of the West,

James Potter rode out that night, never to return to Hogwarts, and Disapparated into his princess' tower with wide terrified eyes and ashen skin. He was a wild man, robes in tatters, face stained with blood, and he fell to his knees besides her and their four month old son. He was shaking, tears welling in his eyes.

"The snakes," James snarled, his voice cracking so that Lily's core froze.

"What did they do?" Lily asked, cuddling Harry closer to her, hiding him beneath her hair as if she could hide him from the world.

"Bellatrix sits on the throne. She is Queen. Tom Marvolo calls himself Lord Voldemort. Narcissa is Warden of the East and Andromeda, Warden of the West. They...they…" James fell forward, pressing his face into her thigh, staining her dress crimson. He let loose raw sob of grief and rage.

"Mother...Father..." Lily breathed. He did not have to tell her. She knew.

Her parents had lied and she had always known it.

Lily had known from the moment that she left Hogwarts Castle, that she would never see them again.

The Slytherin family had started and ended a war.

The regime began.

 **ON**

Bellatrix stared at her reflection, lips curled back in disdain. Dark shadows stained under her eyes, jowls hanging around her jaw. She was old, liver-spotted, the scent of decay caught in her nostrils. Bellatrix felt the presence of her brother behind her, heavy, overbearing and comforting. Bellatrix glanced at her brother, caught in the trap of his crimson gaze. She flushed, splotchy red spreading across her thin skin.

"Do it, sister. Wormtail has told us what we need to know," Tom Marvolo said, his grip on the short, balding man's arms tightening ever so much. The smaller man choked.

"I know," Bellatrix snapped. She softened under her brother's glare. "But, I do _not_ know if the Mirror retains enough magic. The last guardian is nearly dried up."

Tom Marvolo's eyes narrowed at the doubt in her voice.

"Bellatrix. Find her. We know the location. It is in the Forbidden Forest. We need a visual. You are capable. Summon the visual to you with your own magic," Tom Marvolo commanded and Bellatrix nodded, firmer in her ability now.

She looked to the mirror and her purple eyes darkened, nearly black. She pressed her hand to the mirror and gasped when she felt the pulse of magic rush through her. This was a flirtation with death and it aroused her. Power coursed through her.

Bellatrix tossed back her hair and whispered the eternal words.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, whom is fairest of them all?"

The glass rippled, the image of the Forbidden Forest flashing. Bellatrix's eyes darkened as she fed the mirror, its magic reaching back into her, blackening her heart and soul.

Tom Marvolo watched as his sister began to sway, tendrils of black slipping into her fingers, crawling up the inside of her pale arms, turning the veins there black. Corruption at its finest.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, show me fairest of them all! Mirror, mirror, on the wall, show me fairest of them all!" Bellatrix chanted, shrieking with fury, eyes blown wide with magic.

The black magic pulsed within her and then the room was filled with an unnatural silence. It reminded Tom Marvolo of a night, just a little over a year ago-a night when the fires had all died for a long moment and then sparked into being of their own accord, raging wildly. Hogsmeade had nearly burned down that night.

Tom Marvolo stared at the focusing image. A tower. A tower that Tom Marvolo had seen once in his travels but, it had always looked decrepit when he passed. So, it was warded. The Founders were crafty.

The image zoomed in and Tom Marvolo laid his eyes on the woman that had evaded them for over a decade. The woman that was the fairest of them all. And for the first time in many years, Tom ached; he _hungered_. He had to have her.

Her heart.

The woman was older but, her beauty had not diminished in her exile. It had grown into something so much _greater_.

Snow.

Fire.

Jewel.

Her head of flames fell to her shin, gather on the floor. She sat now, bent over. Her red hair fell over her bared chest, and she held something, a bundle of blankets to her chest. It was as if she knew she was being watched as was hiding from them. She was staring far away at something, or someone, her lips moving. Bellatrix hummed; Lily took no notice of the magical spying. Bellatrix was not surprised. Lily was gifted with beauty, yes, and she was quite clever but her magic was nowhere near as powerful as Bellatrix and her brother's.

The glass of the mirror rippled and cleared. The glass dimmed until it was black as night and Bellatrix could no longer see her reflection. The Queen turned towards her brother, her eyes wide with excitement and her face flushed. She straightened her crown, feigning composure.

"Good, sister. We know where they are."

"Yes...you...you must go. You must go alone," Bellatrix said, breathing heavily, her sagging chest heaving. Tom Marvolo nodded once and he turned from his sister.

He needed his sword.

 **THE WALL**

The dark night cloaked the Dark Lord as he flew through the forest, on the back of his horse. His sword bounced against his side as the horse galloped hard against the unnatural chill of the Forbidden Forest. His crimson eyes narrowed in concentration. The creatures of the Forest cowered in the face of his fury, and the might of his magic. As he drew closer to the wards that hid the Fairest from his view, he could practically taste his father's magic on his tongue.

His own father had hidden the key to his beauty and extended life.

Perhaps he should've killed him. The Dark Lord pushed his thoughts aside. His father was gone, exiled and suffering. That was greater than any death. The Dark Lord's wrinkled face twisted with a cruel smile as he grew closer, tasting the magic of the other Founders as well. It was potent and there was something…

Ah, so it wasn't just any wards. A Fidelius Charm. The Fidelius Charm was a powerful ancient enchantment but, the Dark Lord's desire was more so. The Dark Lord could feel the black magic that Bellatrix had channeled into the mirror breaking the charm down. It didn't matter when the Secret Keeper himself had spoken the words alive.

Whose clever idea had it been to make Lily's status as being alive the Secret rather than her location? Oh, most probably, Rowena. It seemed like something the cursed woman would do.

The Dark Lord squeezed his thighs against the side of the horse and leaned forward, urging it on faster. The beast obeyed easily. She was almost in his grasp.

He wouldn't be able to catch her off guard. Lily wasn't as powerful as him but, she was still a child of the Founders, and fire burned in her blood. She would feel his malicious intent and his Dark magic as soon as he broke through the wards. The Dark Lord didn't mind. He wanted her to know that he was coming for her, hunting her.

He saw the hazy film of the wards that hid Lily Gryffindor from him. The repelling charms descended, heavy on his shoulders. He pushed them aside and charged forward towards the crumbling tower. As he pushed through the wards, the Fidelius Charm warped around him, shattering, breaking and ripping apart at the seams.

He grinned as he looked up at the beautiful, unblemish tower, without a doorway and only a few windows at the top.

The Dark Lord felt her. Her magic called to him, burning fire reaching out and brushing against black ice. Time for the show.

 **WHO IS FAIREST**

Lily was frozen.

Her son still nursed at her breast but, she could not move. Her husband smiled but, she could not move. Lily's face grew ashen as she felt _him_ , the dark, oppressing magic sliding over her skin like thick oil.

"He...he found us. He's here…" Lily breathed.

James' smile froze and then cracked. He jumped, knocking back his chair and he scrambled towards the window, peeking out discreetly. James' stomach clenched and his head went hazy with despair when he saw the Dark Lord standing at the bottom of the tower. His hood was up but, James recognized the ornate hilt of the Dark Lord Voldemort's sword-it was the sword of the North, an evil thing that Salazar Slytherin had taken from the Tabooed of the North when he had defeated him. It had once had a name.

Voldemort's long yew wand was pointing up.

"Lily! Take Harry and Disapparate!" James commanded.

"I don't know how," Lily snarled, pulling her dress on as she spun into action. Her long hair tangled with her legs as she whipped out her wand, holding it defensively. "And he's not stupid. There'll be anti-Apparation wands."

"Lily go!" James shouted. "I love you!"

Lily looked at him, without tears in her eyes, only firm resolve. "I love you too," she whispered, and then she disappeared up the stairs to the lofted room, lifting her wand.

James watched in wonder as Lily constructed walls out of nothingness, warding the space, in an attempt to keep their child safe. Just as the walls finished coming into being, James caught his last glimpse of the fire of her hair and there was the loud crack of Apparation.

The Dark Lord was wrinkled and stooped. Streaks of silver ran through washed out watery brown hair and the man seemed to be growing older by the second.

"Ah...James Potter. I should have known," the Dark Lord murmured, his deep baritone trembling with rapid raging. James wondered if this was the Dark Lord's true age or some sick twisted magic that drained him.

"I won't let you hurt her," James spat, raising his wand.

The Dark Lord smile, a terrifying thing that might've scared James if he wasn't so frightened for his wife and child.

"You swore eternal loyalty to your queen and here you are, with the Phoenix, the daughter of a traitor to the regime," the Dark Lord said, coldly.

James looked at him, grim. "I did swear eternal loyalty to my queen. Lily is the rightful queen of the Empire if anyone. Bellatrix is the puppet you rule through."

The Dark Lord didn't seem angry. Instead, he smiled.

"And here I thought you were an idiot for all these years."

"Well, I'm not. _Stupefy_ ," James snarled.

The bright red jet of magic flew at the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord shifted only slightly and the magic flew past his ear, sizzling. It crashed into the wall, causing the tower to tremble. Voldemort grinned.

"There was _power_ behind that! You _want_ to kill me!" he said, eyes alight with a terrible excitement. "But, you'll have to do better than that, Sir James. _Reducto_."

James jumped, flinging himself away and flying behind the sofa. He cursed under his breath, staring at the large scorch mark on the ground. James spun up, shooting off a Cutting Curse. The Dark Lord batted the spell away easily and then follow it with a Disarming Charm. James cried out as his wand flew from his hand and into Voldemort's. He searched for his sword but a Summoning Spell made it fly from its place on the kitchen table to Voldemort's side. Voldemort tossed James' wand to the side and it rolled towards the cauldron.

"Where will you go now?" the Dark Lord taunted.

James glowered at the man. "You won't win, Voldemort."

He dove for his wand, turning his back on the man.

"Are you sure?" James heard the man whisper. " _Avada Kedavra._ "

The Dark Lord watched as James' body crashed to the ground. There was only silence. The Dark Lord stepped over the corpse towards the stairs. Lily's spellwork had not suffered in her exile. He walked up the stairs and met a solid wall of stone. Not even a door. Yes, Lily was still impressive but, she had never been strong enough for this.

Lord Voldemort drew his wand from the bottom of the wall, up, across, and then down again, burning a door into existence. He breathed on the carved stone and watched the brick and mortar melt away, crumbling in the face of his magic. The Dark Lord entered the bedroom and stared.

The room was dimly lit, just a two torches on the walls, over the large double bed. The sheets were still unmade, lived in. And there she was. Lily. He did not see her face, not yet, but he recognized her crown of flames, spilling down to her shins, heavy and glorious.

"Lily. We all thought you were dead," he said, his crimson eyes glinting in the flickering fire light.

"That was the point."

Lily turned slowly. Her bright green eyes were resigned. She looked as if she were ready to die. The Dark Lord frowned, annoyed by this. He enjoyed the fear before they died. This woman felt no fear. She was ready. The little bird had been ready too. She had given her life because he had asked for it.

"Out of curiosity—explain to me why you are here and why you are not afraid. You'll live longer that way," the Dark Lord said nonchalantly. Lily gave a cruel and hard laugh, unrecognizable from the innocent giggles he remembered sounding through the castle when she was still a child.

"I am ready to die. But I shall humour you. My parents and your parents and Aunt Rowena and Aunt Helga locked me in this tower to keep me away from you. I didn't know it was you until James told me what you had done. How you slaughtered my parents and Aunt Helga. How you destroyed the thrones and placed Bellatrix on that twisted thing that you created," Lily snarled, "Do you see what you've done, Tom Marvolo?" The Dark Lord's lips curled into a cruel smile and he took another step into the room, sighing.

"They call me Voldemort now," the Dark Lord said.

Lily sneered. " _You_ call yourself Voldemort now. But, I'll always know you as Tom Marvolo. You ruined my _life_ ," she hissed.

"I did no such thing. I did not ruin your life. You ruined your own."

"In what way?" she asked spitefully. She kept her eyes on the Dark Lord's face, capturing all of his attention.

"You were born beautiful," Voldemort said carefully, "And so, you seal your own fate." Lily bit her lip and shook her head, trying to keep away the growing smile.

"It matters not. Kill me. Kill me now. There's nothing left for me. You've taken it all away, haven't you? My parents, my husband, and my empire. What more do I have? What more could you want from me?" Lily whispered.

Voldemort looked at her with narrowed eyes and an unfathomable expression. He did not answer, but Lily could not find it in herself to be curious any longer. She had a duty to her people. A duty to her son. She would die to protect her child and the Empire's only hope. The boy would learn his heritage and be the true, courageous Gryffindor that he had been born as.

"Tom, I'm waiting. I've been told that I'll die before I'm old...I'm not growing any younger," Lily said firmly. Voldemort nodded and lifted his wand.

Voldemort watched her for just a moment, but she showed no fear, even facing the deadliest wand that the Empire had seen in ages. She smiled.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

Green eyes widened and then the Phoenix's expression froze in death. She dropped to the ground, a dead weight. The curve of her lips had never dropped into a frown. The Dark Lord stared for just a moment, feeling nothing. He squared himself, knowing what he had to do. He had to be careful about it. If he destroyed the heart in his haste, his efforts and years of waiting would be for naught.

He kneeled down next to the body and slowly pulled away his gloves, placing them on his lap carefully so as not to get blood on the leather. The Dark Lord pulled away the top of Lily's dress, feeling nothing at the sight of her small creamy breasts. The Dark Lord pulled the cursedly curved knife from his side and pressed it to her sternum before pulling it down her still warm body.

Blood welled atop her skin as he cut with care down to her navel. He frowned and brought the knife across her chest, cutting her once perfect skin away. He looked down at the bloody mess he had created and slowly pulled back the layers of skin until he caught sight of her blood covered ribs. Without care, he reached blood-stained hands into her body. He heard the sharp snap of her ribs as he broke them away, searching for his prize.

He reached down, ripping the heart from Lily's chest and staring at it with wide eyes. The Dark Lord brought his lips to it, lapping the blood from it slowly. He gave a sigh of contentment as he felt the magic working. He stood slowly, feeling steadier and stronger. He looked into the shattered mirror and his eyes widened with wild happiness.

The wrinkles were not all gone but his hair was thicker and though not as shiny as it would be soon, there were no lingering greys or silvers. His skin was no longer papery. It was pale, the skin of a man that was not even middle-aged. He looked far younger than his father had at his age, as if he had just come of age again and had ventured into a cave only moments ago.

Voldemort grinned a horribly bitter, yet satisfied, grin.

He would beautiful once more.

 **OF THEM**

Bellatrix lounged in her throne, legs tossed over the arm of the monstrosity that her brother and sisters had constructed with her-the Gilded Throne was great terribly ugly throne but, that didn't matter. Made of bronze, onyx, silver, and gold, it was a mark of their reign. While Bellatrix would be beautiful forever, it reminded their subjects how ugly those before them were.

Sharp violet eyes surveyed the court. The lords and ladies were quiet, whispering amongst themselves. The Death Eaters watched, silent guardians and jailors. Bellatrix's lips curled into a gleeful smile as she caught the expression on Black and Lupin's faces. Little mutt fools. They exchanged meaningful looks, heavy looks that they thought no one could decipher. It just made Bellatrix's smile wider.

Black's mouth dropped open when the doors were slung open. The court jumped, falling into silence, staring in awe. Bellatrix swung off her throne, swaying as her violet eyes tracked her brother.

The Dark Lord was handsome in his youth. His hair was thick and black again. His face was only lightly lined, skin taut and pale without liver spots. He was tall and no longer trembled with age. Bellatrix ran a brittle gnarled hand through her salt and pepper locks, her curved nails combing through knots and snarls.

"B-brother?" she asked and she hated herself when her voice stuttered, vocal cords weak.

The Dark Lord walked up the dais and bowed, mockingly.

"Sister," he began, voice clear and strong. "I present to you...the heart of Lily Gryffindor."

Black gasped, looking at Lupin and Dumbledore in horror. Lupin took a step back, shaking his head in vicious denial. Bellatrix grinned horribly as she looked at Dumbledore's cold blue eyes, the way Dumbledore pulled Lupin away from Black.

Bellatrix's claw-like hand curled around the small bag, snatching it from Voldemort and cradling it to her chest. Voldemort's expression stayed stagnant as he watched her lips curl into a wide smile and she pressed a hand to his cheek, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction and dark victory.

"Oh, we thank you, brother. You're so good to us. _So_ good to us," Bellatrix cooed. She peeked inside the bag, as if afraid that it wasn't what he said it was, and squealed when she saw what it was. " _So_ good, you did _so_ good. So good to us. Let us have the first taste?"

Voldemort glanced over his shoulder at the soldiers lining the walls, the council waiting just before them. The court waited for him to speak. He shook his head and offered his hand to Bellatrix. Bellatrix grabbed his wrist and pulled herself up before racing forward giddily, dragging Voldemort with her. She paused and glanced at Narcissa, who stood with her husband clothed in blue and white, looking as frozen as ice sculptures.

"Sit upon the throne, sister. Go," Bellatrix commanded. Narcissa's eyes lit up as she swiftly walked towards the monstrous throne and sat upon it, clearly relishing in the cold, hard seat that was the symbol of the highest power.

"Yes," Lord Voldemort said, addressing the court. "We have found the fugitive, Lily Gryffindor, as proof of her death, I, your Lord, present her heart to Queen Bellatrix. Lily Gryffindor was harbored and kept alive by James of House Potter. James Potter, sworn to us, the House of Slytherin, betrayed his vows and married the fugitive, this 'Princess'. Tonight, we have eliminated a grievous threat to the empire with the assistance of Sirius of House Black and our _loyal_ servant, Duke Peter Pettigrew of the Alley."

Black spun to look at Wormtail, eyes wide with terror. "What have you _done_?" he whispered.

"Wormtail is loyal to us," Bellatrix hissed. "And we will not have traitors while we sit upon the throne. Execute him!"

The Dark Lord did not move. And then his lips curled into a smile, lifting his wand. "Wait. _Crucio_."

Black crumpled and let out a terrible scream. The people of the court jumped and winced, holding back their own whimpers but, the Dark Lord's curse endured. Black writhed on the ground, as if his nerves were on fire, his body flexing with agony. Bellatrix knew what that curse felt like-white-hot knives being run along your skin, entering the fleshy parts of you, branding you with excruciating pain over and _over_ again. She laughed; it started low, and built until her shrieks of amusement and Black's laughter couldn't be told apart.

And then, it ended, and Bellatrix's laughter crested into giggles.

"No, not death," the Dark Lord decided, voice soft. "We shan't let him off so easily for thinking to hide from us. Death is merciful, my love. Death is kind. We are neither."

Bellatrix nodded, eager to please and she smiled. "For Sir Sirius of House Black's act of treason, we sentence him one lifetime in Azkaban Prison. Our will be done," Bellatrix commanded.

Black rolled onto his side, curled into himself and he let out a terrible cough, blood spilling from his lips. He twitched with the aftershocks. Severus walked towards him, a pleased look on his face as he stared down at him and delivered a swift kick to his abdomen. Bellatrix broke into a fresh round of giggles. She glanced at her brother and sister. Narcissa's holier-than-thou sneer was a tiny smile. The Dark Lord watched, impatiently.

"You wish to speak. Speak your last," Voldemort commanded, looking at Black.

Black hissed in pain, mumbling again before he stilled, gathering his strength.

"There is something worse than a traitor," Black promised, growling through labored breaths. He pushed himself into a sitting position, practically slumping over into his own lap.

"Enlighten us," Severus said, flatly.

A small laugh emerged from the man, quickly transforming into huffs and yelps of pain. Black looked up, his face streaked with gore. "A tyrant. A tyrant is worse than a traitor."

"Tyrants are sole rulers," the Dark Lord said dismissively. "They are all-powerful. What does it matter if tyrants are worse? Tyrants have nothing to fear."

Black grinned a bloody smile, his eyes narrowed with defiance. "Sure. Except tyrant killers."

The Dark Lord glowered and nodded towards Severus. Severus Disapparated with a crack and Lord Voldemort offered his hand to his sister. Bellatrix took it, the burlap sack still close to her breast. Voldemort's eyes narrowed when he saw Dumbledore backing away towards the door.

"My Lord Dumbledore," Voldemort called, his voice so soft.

Dumbledore froze. "My Lord?" he asked, in his old, wizened voice, blue eyes bright.

"I advise you not to go anywhere. Lord Voldemort will know if you do," the Dark Lord purred. He looked at Narcissa and smiled. "Stand by the Warden's side. She shall watch you until Severus returns. Severus shall be our new Lord of Whispers."

"I have been Lord of Whispers long before you were born," Dumbledore protested, voice soft but, he did not dare to raise his wand.

"A new position has opened up for you. My sister and I must...prepare it for you. Do your duty. Aren't you loyal to the crown?" Lord Voldemort asked.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed into a glower but he nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

Bellatrix laughed again, whooping proudly.

Bellatrix used her magic with wild abandon, Disapparating with him with loud cracks that shook the foundations of Hogwarts until they appeared on the seventh floor, staring at the blank wall. Pacing back and forth, she muttered to herself.

"This shall be our chamber. Brother, we shall live there, so that we may always see the mirror. We will," Bellatrix stammered in excitement as she paced a third time and the door appeared. Lord Voldemort watched his addled sister throw the door open and followed her as she descended into darkness.

She knew the way. _They_ knew the way.

Bellatrix stumbled towards the mirror, caressing it before she turned, her back against the cool glass. She held her hands out, curved in such a way that in the dim lighting, they looked like claws. Bellatrix pulled the slightly bloodied heart from the small burlap bag and tilted it up so that the liquid that clung to it shone in the light.

The heart was greyer than the heart which Voldemort had ripped from the little bird's chest. It was also slightly bigger, though that made perfect sense. The little bird had been smaller, younger, and more fragile than Lily, though only in body, perhaps.

"Will you let us eat of it first?" Bellatrix whispered. Voldemort nodded.

Bellatrix cradled the heart in the palm of her hand before she licked a long wet line across it. She giggled at the taste before she took a deep, vicious bite of it. She didn't both to swallow before she took another bite, drool coming from the corners of her mouth as she chewed through the rough meat. She offered it to Voldemort with a slightly bloody smile and he took it from her, tearing it from her grasp before he ripped into it with the appetite of an animal.

As he ate the heart, he felt the stolen time seep into his veins. He looked up over Bellatrix's shoulder at his reflection and thought back to what Andromeda had said to their father.

Monster.

They were monstrously beautiful. That was what it meant to be a Slytherin.

So, Voldemort ate the bloody heart and smiled.

 **ALL?**

Minerva Apparated directly into the tower the moment she heard the news. The Princess was dead, murdered, and Minerva swallowed her grief. It was not the time for such things. The servants, house elves and humans alike, had whispered about what had happened in the Great Hall, and so Minerva knew what she would find.

Minerva looked around the main room. The floor and walls were scorched with magical residue. They had fought then. Good. She sighed, long and hard when she saw James' body. His face was frozen in terror, eyes still staring at the staircase. Minerva stooped down, sliding her fingers over his eyes, shutting them.

Minerva squared her shoulders and she quickly ascended the stairs and stopped in the doorway.

Lily's eyes wide, still bright green in the flickering of the fire light. Red hair reached far, a halo around her body. Still, even in death, she was beautiful. But, the rest of her. She was naked from waist up, her chest cut open, revealing splintered ribs and her blood insides, drying in the cold air. The empty cavity where her heart had been made her look so lonely. Minerva then saw how some of the red of her hair was slick and sticking to the ground from the blood.

"How they've dishonored, my Queen," Minerva breathed, shaking her head. She lifted her wand, well-versed in cleaning spells and transformation.

The end of her wand glowed white, washing the room in it, and the blood dissipated. Lily's skin was washed of crimson and hr chest closed back up, knitting together. Her dress folded over her bare breast, and once again, she was beautiful Lily Gryffindor. Lily _Potter_. Minerva took a step towards when she heard the soft cries. She fell to her knees immediately and reached under the large bed, pulling out the bundle. Part of the bed had collapse upon him, she sighed. Only an annual old and he had already bled and seen battle.

Her lips pulled into a smile against her will, for she was a stern woman, even at the best of times. But, how could she not smile at this child? He was the most beautiful babe that Minerva had ever seen in her life. He had a jagged little cut on his forehead that she mopped up, gently. A lightning bolt. The greatest sign of fire. His beauty was a gift and a curse. Albus had trusted her alone with the secrets of the Slytherin twins' fascination with hearts of beautiful girls, and this child would be in an even greater danger.

Gathering the child close to her chest and promising herself that she would return with Hagrid to bury the bodies, Minerva Disapparated, hushing the babe's cries of discomfort.

She appeared in the small Muggle community of Little Whinging, a mocking name that the Queen had conjured when the Muggles had begun to complain of little food and harsh winters. It sat on the border of the North and East, far too Muggle for any of the Slytherin to ever care to visit.

Minerva walked the deserted streets, hunched against the bitter wind. She lifted her wand, doing a complicated little wave, and burst of hot air warmed the babe's body as she stopped at one of the larger houses. She sat along the little stone wall that separated the home from the road, and stroked the babe's soft cheek. He was such a good boy; quiet and smiling. Poor child. He had no idea that his parents had been murdered. No idea that she was placing him with the _worst_ of Muggles, all to protect him.

"You will understand one day," Minerva promised, "even if you hate me for it. It will prepare you, dear child, harden you, for the day that you shall meet him. He is known by many names-Prince, Dark Lord, snake, Slytherin, _Voldemort_ -but you will face him. You are Hadrian Gryffindor, Heir to Albion, brave and true. They will bow before your might. The night you were born, you killed the summer and then, it was reborn again with your cries. You are Harry Wildfyre, the Fairest of Them All."

:::

 **A/N:** Whoa. A wild chapter appears. So, basically, I got the backstory out of the way! On to the main event. We finally see Harry. But, barely, because he's a baby. A very cute baby though, according to literally everyone. So, I wrote a lot of stuff for Andromeda. I love Andromeda. The scene where they banished their father was to really flesh her out and then hint at some of their motivations. I was re-reading my old stuff and motivation was severely lacking. Also, some of the timeline/way I organized chapters, didn't really make sense. Like, I was confused about when things were taking place so, that'll be fun to decipher.

Anyway, I've already plotted and started writing the next chapter and, if I continue to work at my current pace, it should be out by tomorrow, even.

Please _review_.


	6. Chapter Four

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : Here's Chapter Four! Have fun!

 **Fairest**

Chapter Four

The night that Princess Lily Gryffindor and James Potter were murdered marked the end of a light era and beckoned the beginning of a dark age. Fear descended upon Albion and hope was lost as the news of the death of the true Light Queen of Gryffindor spread throughout the land.

And while the empire mourned, Queen Bellatrix and the Dark Lord Voldemort took the former Lord of Whispers, Albus Dumbledore and sealed him within the depths of their mirror for all eternity.

When morning came, and the court assembled to break their fast, they were shocked to find the Slytherin twins returned to their former glory.

Bellatrix's crown rested atop a pile of luxuriously thick black hair, her skin tightened, and retaining a glow of health. Her womanly curve has returned, her bosom falling from her tight bodice, and her violet eyes were bright with bloodthirsty triumph.

The Dark Lord radiated power, crimson eyes shining like freshly spilled blood. He had always been a handsome man but, now, that beauty masked something great and terrible. The Dark Lord knew that, this time, their beauty and youth could be retained for decades at a time, with the heart from the only one more beautiful than they.

And years passed, the twins' rule casting a dark shadow over Albion. But, even in their rule of iron, murmurs of the rebellion grew-the Order of the Phoenix-and so did the rumors of someone else: the Fairest.

The young Prince Hadrian, known commonly as Harry, lived in ignorance for sixteen annuals, with the man and woman who believed to be his uncle and aunt, Vernon and Petunia. Petunia was the bastard daughter of a long forgotten House and, was without any magic, and so she held disdain for all those that could use it. However, her House had sworn fealty to Dumbledore's during the Founders' War, and she held some semblance of dishonor no matter how nasty of a person she was.

Petunia, grudgingly, took the child in, a babe who grew more beautiful with every passing day. Even when the child was the tender age of eight, Petunia had known that he would be most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. He was soft-spoken and kind, sweet yet fierce. He was the kind of babe that she wished she had given birth to. Instead of the boy's nature endearing himself to her, Petunia was repulsed.

Jealousy festered as he drew attention from the other villagers with his gorgeous looks and kind soul, and so, she turned her 'nephew' into her servant, in an attempt to humble him, and that he remained until the eve of the sixteenth anniversary of the Princess Gryffindor's death.

 **MIRROR, MIRROR**

The Dark Lord Voldemort sat upon the monstrous throne, staring darkly at the tall, arrogant boy that stood before him. He exchanged disdainful glances with the two men on either side of the throne, and nearly smirked when Sir Severus Snape of House Prince rolled his eyes. The Dark Lord pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He waved his hand, giving the boy permission to speak.

The spoiled boy smirked and pushed the girl forward. "Uncle, greetings."

Voldemort hummed, inspecting his nails even as Draco squirmed, his nose wrinkled in irritation. "Welcome back, Draco. You're back sooner than expected."

"Well, I couldn't miss Mortem Phoenix," the boy said, excitedly. He rocked forward. "Where is Mother?"

"Your aunt and mother are in the middle of a council meeting," Voldemort drawled.

Lies. Bellatrix was probably raving again, and it was Narcissa's turn to still her mind.

"If it's about taxes, I have some ideas. In the Republic, they tax their Muggles, fairly-I'm not sure why-but, their creatures pay the most. It keeps them in line and-" Draco said, eager to please and Voldemort sighed, long and hard enough for Draco to fall silent.

Voldemort slowly looked up, his eyes trailing over the young woman at his side, her dark brown eyes boring so deeply into him, it was as if she were staring right through him. A messy bush of brown curls fell down her back, the simple blue dress that she was donning nearly hung off of her. She looked emaciated. Voldemort's lips curled back into a sneer.

"Draco, what have we said about pets in this castle?" Voldemort drawled.

Lucius snorted into his hand the court tittered. Even some of the servants preparing for Mortem Phoenix laughed at his barb. His smirk grew wider.

"I am not his pet."

The laughter ceased immediately.

The girl was staring at him now. Voldemort looked at her again; this wraith of a girl, with dark circles beneath her eyes that were ill-hidden by thick powder. A yellow bruise on her jaw was clumsily hidden by more cosmetics. And still, she stood straight-backed and tall, unflinching.

Draco flushed, lifting his pointy chin and he shoved the girl, roughly, causing her to stumble. "Do not speak to the Dark Lord Voldemort as if you-" Draco snarled, his hand clenching around her thin arm.

Voldemort lifted a hand and Draco fell silent, releasing the girl. The Dark Lord leaned forward, crimson eyes glinting in amusement.

"Then, what are you?" Voldemort asked.

The girl stared at him. "I am Hermione Granger. And I am not a pet."

Voldemort's smile widened.

"She's Lady Zabini's step-daughter. Lady Zabini remarried the Muggle, Daniel Granger. He was a well-known merchant in Gaul. She is a...Mudblood," Draco admitted.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. He remembered Lady Zabini well. The woman could not be called beautiful but, she was an attractive woman with a tight cunt. He remembered _that_ exceedingly well. The woman was surrounded by varying tales about the unfortunate demises of her various husbands. It was suspected that she married and killed her husbands to amass her fortune and she was not below commoners or Muggles. It seemed that this particular commoner had a large fortune and she had kept the daughter because she would inherit it all at her majority as her majority, making Lady Zabini quite powerful, not monetarily, but politically.

"Lady Zabini's step-daughter. A Mudblood," Voldemort repeated slowly.

He could not afford to insult Lady Zabini. During the war, she had been generous with her galleons in exchange for getting away with cold-blooded murder.

"She is to be my wife. If you allow it, my Lord," Draco added.

"She is adequate," Voldemort said he swung himself of the throne and descended the dais until he stood right before the woman and his nephew. She was tall for a woman. She stared up at him, unafraid. "Now, Lady Granger, are you excited for Mortem Phoenix?"

"A celebration of the inevitable death of traitors. The anniversary of the worst traitor of them all, Princess Lily of House Gryffindor," Hermione said, her voice low and droning, as if reciting from a textbook.

"Are you sure you aren't of Albion, Lady Granger?" Voldemort asked, curiously.

Draco frowned in confusion, disapproval in the curve of his lip as he looked at his fiancee.

"No. I read," Hermione retorted, lifting her chin in defiance. She was a ghostly thing, so thin, but that was ferocity in her eyes. And wit. How _interesting_. "Your 'holiday' is built on a thinly spun web of lies, Lord Voldemort."

"How so?" he asked, the edge in his voice silencing any mutterings for good.

"You killed her because she was beautiful. More beautiful than you," Hermione challenged.

Voldemort smiled then. "Draco, you do well for yourself."

Hermione Granger finally looked him in the eye. She was not frightened by his crimson eyes nor was she intimidated by the feel of his oppressing magic.

"Because her beauty and gentility was known even by my country. She was great and every knows greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, and spite spawns lies. This 'holiday'-your _reign_ -is a lie," she spat.

Draco slowly turned to look at Hermione Granger and Voldemort raised an eyebrow when his nephew's hand flashed out, the back of his hand connecting with her cheek. Hermione's head snapped to the side from the force of the blow, blood marking her cut lip. Hermione staggered and then rocked back up, staring at her fiance, unblinking.

"You will learn, _quickly_ , Mudblood, that it is better to stay silent," Draco snarled.

Hermione's lips pulled into a smile. "I shall wear this as a badge of honor," she promised.

Draco took a step closer to her, sneering at her. "Wear it in silence or I'll honor you again."

Voldemort raised his hand.

"Enough, Draco," he sighed, wearily, tired of his nephew's face. Draco flushed in embarassment and Voldemort turned back to the girl. "Lady Granger, you are far too intelligent for you own good. And you shan't be sorry for the words you spoke. I do think I enjoy flatterers but, I hate liars moreso. So, thank you, for not lying to me."

"Uncle, I apologize for my finacee," Draco stammered, needlessly, endlessly. _Merlin_ , Voldemort loathed the boy. "I will discipline her further, I assure you."

"No need. You've already smacked her enough, don't you think, Draco? You're such a child, aren't you? Kicking your pets...I'm sorry, but, you aren't a pet, are you, Lady Granger?" Voldemort asked, crimson eyes glinting cruelly.

Hermione shook her head, firmly. Voldemort looked between his spineless, childish nephew and the iron-backed woman next to him and he smiled. This would be _interesting_ and the Dark Lord had been dreadfully bored as of late.

"Very well," the Dark Lord drawled. "Draco, escort your fiancee to her rooms."

Draco's cheeks flushed with outrage. "But...but that's a _servant's_ job. I won't do what we have Muggles or house elves to do."

Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed in annoyance. He reached for his wand but, before he could curse Draco for his insolence, a bejeweled hand swooped down and squeezed his shoulder. Lucius stiffened.

" _Now,_ Draco," Narcissa hissed.

Voldemort looked at the tall, pale form of his youngest sister, her eyes chilly as she looked at her petulant child. Draco pouted and squeezed his fiancee's wrist tight, storming off with her.

"Bellatrix?" Voldemort asked.

Narcissa stared at him with cold blue eyes. She alone possessed their father's Northern eyes, pale and stormy like a blizzard.

"You should...brother, see her for yourself."

Voldemort gritted his teeth. Well, his answer, then.

 **ON THE WALL**

Voldemort was swift in his pursuit, Disapparating straight into the hidden room that Bellatrix had claimed as her own. He looked around the grand bedroom and sighed. The spiral staircase, leading down into an abyss, revealed where she was. Her bedroom revealed just as much.

The room was a mess, the bed unmade and the pillows torn into pieces on the floor. There was a bucket of black bile just beside the bed. Bellatrix _was_ ill. Voldemort wasn't quite sure how he had missed that, but he had. Bellatrix was odd, and she always had been. She did as she pleased, and so Voldemort had only thought that she didn't quite feel like coming out of her bed that day.

Voldemort turned back to the steps and he began to descend into the cold, hard dungeons and he watched in detachment as his breath began to frost the lower he went. Rearranging the dungeons had been easy after the second heart. Everything had been easier since the second heart and the unlocked magic that seemed to come with it. The walls of the staircase were lined with unlit torches and he wondered what had made his sister come down without at least _lighting_ the torches. The darkness did not hinder him and his tongue flicked the air, tasting it. He could taste his sister in the dungeons and something else. He could not taste magic, but he could taste freshly spilled blood.

As he reached the bottom, he paused as he stared through the archway. The room was dimly lit unlike the staircase and he could only see the back of his sister. Her hair hung down her back in knots and tangles and she was wearing her dress from the day before. At her feet, was the corpse of a woman, her eyes still wide and reflecting the fear that Bellatrix inspired daily. The woman's mangled body looked like it had been ravaged by a pack of dogs.

"Sister?" Voldemort murmured, coaxing the wild animal.

Bellatrix didn't turn to look at her brother. She was shivering the cold air, running her fingers across the glass, smearing dark blood upon it as she spoke to her own reflection. Bellatrix froze and looked over her shoulder.

"Brother. Hello," she said with a bright smile, sounding pleasantly surprised.

She sounded so impossibly young.

Her lips were smeared with blood and sinewy strings of muscle were caught between her teeth. Dark blood stained the front of her dress and drying blood were trapped beneath her fingernails. Blood stained her shaking, calloused hands.

"Hello, Eris," Voldemort murmured gently and he watched as she shakily ran her bloody fingers through her hair, attempting to work out the tangles with overgrown nails. Tenderly, he pulled her hands out of her hair and held them in her own. She continued to shake and he looked down at her with pity. "What troubles you, my love? Speak to me, please."

Bellatrix slowly pulled a hand from his and pulled forward a single hair. Cassius' eyes widened and he shoved backwards, disgust and fear warring in his eyes.

"A grey hair. Bellatrix, we're growing older again. We threw up black. We can't eat. We can't sleep. Brother, we're scared. Why is this happening to us? Why?" Bellatrix whispered, a sob catching in her throat and she buried her face in his shoulder.

Voldemort looked over her head and stared into his reflection with narrowed eyes. Dark blue eyes flickered, twinkling cruelly and yet, still so full of grief.

"Bella…" Voldemort began. "You know as well as me, that everything comes in three."

"What do we do? The mirror will not answer us!" Bellatrix sobbed, slamming her fist so hard against the glass, it trembled in its golden frame. Voldemort reached forward, dragging her back and she brushed bloodstained fingers cross his cheeks.

"Tonight, Bellatrix. Bathe yourself, and tonight, there is a full moon. He will not able to resist answering. Do you understand, sister?" Voldemort demanded.

Bellatrix relaxed into his embrace, brushing her blood stained lips against his jaw.

"Y-yes, brother. I understand."

 **WHO IS FAIREST**

He had an itch. A constant one, at the nape of his neck. The boy lifted his hand rubbing harshly and still, the itch remained.

"Hello!" he called. "Who's there?"

No one spoke back. And yet, Harry Evans could not shake the feeling that he was being _watched_.

He sighed, staring up at the sky through the bright green canopy of the trees. Green like his eyes; at least, that's what Piers Polkiss and his gang of assholes said. Harry snorted. He'd never given a damn what Piers Polkiss had said before. Shaking them from his head, he lingered on the task at hand.

It was nearly time to go back to Little Whinging. He could hear the bustling of the marketplace already, and Petunia had demanded rabbit stew with potatoes for Mortem Phoenix. If he didn't move, he wouldn't skin and boil the rabbits in time and they'd be stuck with more cornmeal or a scrawny hen. Scrawny had no place in the Dursleys' home; only because Vernon and Dudley filled any possible space there was.

Harry snickered as he rocked to his feet and left the clearing, making his way down the dirt path back to the village.

Mortem Phoenix. His _least_ favorite holiday. A celebration of the Death of the Phoenix was a cruel thing, made crueller by the executions that all had to watch by decree. Harry wasn't squeamish; Harry had gotten over that the time Dudley had pushed him so hard that he'd broken a finger when he caught himself.

Harry sighed as he continued down the dirt path. Tomorrow, he would be sitting on the floor in the crumbling manor house that the Dursleys called home and he would be forced to watch the ceremonies on the mirrors that the Crown made sure everyone had. Harry suspected that they used the mirrors to spy but, he would never dare say it out loud.

As Harry entered the village of Little Whinging, he hunched over, ignoring the stares. He rubbed his forehead, over the lightning bolt scar that he had always had. Harry swallowed hard and sighed, glad that he had traded already. It was much too busy and he hated the _stares_.

"Hello, gorgeous."

Harry groaned and tried to change directions. The spotted youth stepped into his bath, a hopeful smirk on his face. Harry crossed his arms, unimpressed and unamused.

"Piers."

Piers Polkiss took a step closer, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry sighed, glancing at Piers' clammy hand in disgust. If he did anything more, Piers would just end up groping or fondling him. A shoulder was better than whatever Piers would try.

"You excited for Mortem Phoenix?" Piers asked.

Harry snorted in disgust. "Excited about a holiday that celebrates the death of the Princess of Gryffindor? That celebrates that death but executing _more_ people? No."

Harry gently removed Piers' hand and turned down the road, making his way back to the Dursleys before they became angry with his absence. He didn't exactly fancy watching Uncle Vernon turn purple again. Piers fell into step with him.

"Why not? It's always cool and then, there's a big party afterward."

"A party that I don't go to," Harry reminded him.

Piers nodded. As Dudley's best friend, he knew exactly why Harry never went to the Mortem Phoenix jamboree or any other gathering that someone might throw.

He wasn't allowed to.

"But, I'm sure I can convince Mr. and Mrs. Dursley to let you go...if you go with me," Piers said. Harry stopped in tracks and faced Piers, slightly horrified at the boy's implications, at the look in his eyes. Piers leered at home.

"And what makes you possibly think that I'd want to go with you?" Harry asked. Piers sputtered and Harry turned on his heel. Jauntily, he smirked and called over his shoulder, "Have a good day, Piers!"

Harry burst into laughter that dimmed slightly as the Dursleys' crumbling brick fence came into view. He paused outside the grand, chipping door and straightened his threadbare clothes. Another mending seemed to be due. His brown doublet was falling apart at the seams, as it was Dudley's from when he was nine.

Harry looked at the mess of the garden. The day after tomorrow, he would have to rake. Winter was fast approaching and Harry hated raking wet leaves, and the dry leaves would be used to heat his little attic room. The iron gate was also creaking obnoxiously. He'd fix that too.

The beautiful youth pushed the heavy wooden door open and as soon as he crossed the threshold, his aunt Petunia descended, a heavy wooden spoon pointed at his face. Her horsey face was pulled taut into a haughty expression.

"Where were you, boy?" Petunia snarled.

"Why does it matter? I came back, right?" Harry retorted. Petunia blinked, a flash of surprise on her lips. She pursed her lips and sniffed.

"You shouldn't be going out. You've got work to do and besides, you could get hurt," she hissed.

Harry snorted in amusement as he made his way into the kitchen. He surveyed the mess. The fireplace needed cleaning again. He'd clear the ashes after he finished helping with today's supper.

"Don't know why you care. It's not like you give a damn enough about health to give me a decent room so that I don't freeze my bollocks off in the winter," Harry spat, grinning when his foul words shocked Petunia.

She glowered at him, shoving the wooden spoon into his hand. "Go finish the bread while I put the chicken to roast," Petunia growled. "And the fireplace is dirty."

"I _know_ ," Harry retorted. He paused as he went over Petunia's words. "Whoa. There's chicken?"

"Yes. And you won't even get the bones if you don't get on with that bread," Petunia snapped and Harry nodded, darting towards the bowl of dough, a slight smile on his face.

Harry had never been _denied_ food, exactly. But, he wasn't used to meat. Vernon and Dudley were huge, like the beached whales that Harry saw in some of the books when he went to the trading grounds. Vernon had been gone for a few days, making money as a salesman for the lords and ladies in the city of Hogsmeade. Harry smirked, wondering how Vernon was being treated since he was a 'lowly' Muggle, just like the rest of them.

"What are you smirking at, boy?" Petunia hissed, irritated as she hefted the large chicken over to the fireplace, hanging it on the iron hook. She bent over, attempting to start the flames.

"Nothing, Aunt Petunia," Harry sang. He smothered a laugh against his sleeve as he braided the dough. He sighed. It was lopsided but, at least, it would be edible. "Aunt Petunia, may I ask you a question?"

The fire still wasn't sparking and Petunia was still ignoring him. Harry huffed, his nose wrinkling as he watched his aunt work. Suddenly, the flames leapt into being, dancing merrily and Petunia jumped back, surprised by the sudden burst of heat. She glowered at him, as if it were _his_ fault. Harry lifted his hands in surrender.

"One," Petunia bit out.

"Why do you want to keep me safe so badly, when you don't even like me?" Harry asked as he set the braided loaf to the side and moved on to the next one. He paused when he saw how stiff Petunia was.

She stared at him, shaking herself at the question, her blonde curls bouncing around her long, horse-face. She smoothed her starched blue dress, fiddling with the ties of her apron. She was _nervous_ about something and Harry wished that her cornflower blue eyes would meet his so that he could see her truth.

Petunia sighed. "A promise."

 **OF THEM ALL?**

The black marble floors were run through with veins of silver. It was cold beneath her feet, like black sheets of ice. The strength of the wind raddled the panes of glass set into the French doors of the balcony. It was the night—the perfect night. Magic was not silent when it descended upon kingdoms.

No, Magic knocked.

And it had to be let in.

She crossed the bedroom floor—ice, black sheets of ice—and long, elegant fingers turned the knob. The door swung crashed open with a heavy clatter and the wind—the Magic—whipped around her. But, the silk nightgown and her thick sheet of black hair was undisturbed. No, the wind crawled down her spine, made her nipples harden underneath the thin fabric, creating peaks. She shuddered with pleasure.

"Welcome, friend," she breathed in greeting.

The air whistled back, kissing her cheeks rosy red. Slowly, she shut the door again and stared past the frosty glass into the dark night.

The sky did not sparkle with a million stars—those were nights when fairytales were born. This was the night of nightmares, of Magic-personified.

She pulled the heavy velvet curtains shut, harsher than necessary. The woman turned and walked towards her bed, the slit up the black skirt revealing the long wand strapped to her alabaster thigh. She fell onto her bed, sitting at the very edge, long hair pooling in her lap. The woman pulled the wand free and twisted it through the air, pulling and tugging at something.

The entire room, from the ash-colored wallpaper to the black marble floors, twisted and inverted, shifting into something else. There was a loud crack and the floor parted like the sea. The black marble melted into a spiral staircase, leading down in the deep, dark unknown.

The woman smiled, sliding her wand back into the thigh holster and began her descent, all dark grace, as she had a hundred times before. As she made her way down the steps, the marble slotted together with a slam, throwing her into the darkness. The woman did not mind.

She knew the way.

As she drew closer to the bottom, she could see the pale fluttering light of the eternal torch that marked the end. Her violet eyes brightened with obsessive madness. The madness disappeared when she entered the simple room.

The circular room was of roughly cut grey stone, pushed together rather clumsily by magic in her youth. Against the curved wall to the left was a dark wooden table, a bubbling cauldron resting atop it. Next to the cauldron was bust. The woman placed her wand beyond the bust and reached for the diadem, presented garishly atop of the bust of its former owner.

The woman smirked in amusement at her own twisted humour.

The head, the pretty little head, and the rest of the body rested in the ground now, beneath years of rot.

The woman could remember the body, skirts heavy from melted snow and chest ripped wide open, ribs cracked to reveal the empty cavity where the pretty girl's should have been. She had died with a bloody smile on her face—that was one thing the woman could say about the pretty, irritating girl.

The pretty girl, with her pretty body and her pretty, pretty heart, had looked Death in the eye and smiled.

The woman lifted the diadem and placed it to her crown, atop thick, shining hair. Finally, _finally_ , she looked at the grand piece of her collection of stolen baubles, deep in the dungeons of her stolen palace.

The mirror was tall and narrow. The words atop looked to the common like simple gibberish.

 _ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT ON WOHSI._

To the common witch or wizard, it would show only their 'heart's' desire. But, the woman was no fool nor was she common.

With a guardian, the mirror took its true purpose and placed in the depths of Hogwarts Castle, it fed upon the ancient magic, its power amplifying.

For a long moment, the woman simply admired herself, staring at her curves wrapped in black silk, her long black hair, the glittering of the stolen diadem. Her ample bosom, exposed by the low neckline, her nipples peaking beneath the thin fabric from the chilly air. She stared at herself with heavy-lidded eyes and smiled, pleased. Her youth was coming along quite nicely.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall…who is fairest of them all?"

The woman's reflection rippled, revealing electric blue eyes, laden with grief and sorrow.

"You are the fairest. But there is another…" The old, wizened voice creaked from the mirror and the woman's dangerous violet eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting her beautiful face.

" _What_?" the woman hissed.

"Famed is thy beauty, my Queen, but one, sure to be lovelier, I see. More beautiful than thee. Dirt and smudge shall not hide strength in magic and grace. Alas, another is fairer inside and in face," the rasping voice said and the woman heard that terrible thing called hope in between his words.

Rage stirred low in her belly, pitching her stomach in roll. She tasted the bile at the back of her tongue and spat at the mirror.

"The name, you fool!" she roared. "Show me the name and face of this creature!"

"You know that I cannot answer without a question."

The woman spat again, spittle trailing down the glass. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall…reveal the name of the fairest of them all!" she snarled in fury.

The mirror rippled again.

The woman leaned forward, peering into the mirror's image. Her lips parted in surprise as she stared at the young man, sitting in the middle of a field, leaning his face upon his palm as he tore the grass into shreds. And though he had a pair of ugly round glasses sitting on his nose, he was _beautiful_ , indeed.

"Red as rose. Black as ebony. White as snow, so to speak. Harry Potter is the one you seek."

The woman glared at the image and she ran a sharp gleaming red nail along the curve of the young man's face. The young man suddenly looked up, as if he had sensed her spying. He had such brilliant green eyes, the kind of green that reminded her of fresh leaves and grass and summer— _beauty_.

She glared and scraped her nails across the glass, distorting the image and banishing it from her. The electric blue eyes returned, staring at her. She spun around towards the bookcase, but did not move.

Did any of the books hold any answers for her?

"Ask the final question, my love."

Dark crimson eyes stared at her from the shadows. She could not see that handsome face—not dark wavy hair nor his strong pale jaw, but he was there.

"Yes, brother," she whispered. "Mirror, mirror, tell me this…how shall I return to former bliss?"

"Consume his heart and you shall live forever, Queen Bellatrix."

Bellatrix's eyes widened. So simple. And history repeated itself once more. She laughed. Her laugh, deep and guttural, chilled men to its bones and set their loins alight. This was something she knew, deep in her marrow, just as she had known what the answer would be. She had _known_.

For she had done it countless times before.

Queen Bellatrix of Albion turned to her brother and stared at his dark crimson eyes. He stared at the mirror, and she could see his lips pull into a gleaming smile. That was all he was—blood eyes and white teeth.

And he whispered, "Well done, Mirror."

Bellatrix watched her brother drift into the low light, his eyes focused on the darkness of the mirror. She tilted her head in curiosity, searching for any signs of praise for _her_ but, she still he looked at the dark glass.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?" Voldemort whispered, as if the words he spoke were holy.

The mirror rippled again, revealing this 'Harry Potter', and Bellatrix felt something hot and terrible uncoil in her belly.

Her brother's eyes bright with undeniable, carnal hunger for this boy. Bellatrix knew what lust looked like. She had experienced it, felt it wet her thighs and burns her from the inside-out. It consumed Voldemort. He did not try to hide it, not from her. His eyes burned, his cheeks were flushed with arousal. Her eyes fell to his crotch. His cock twitched in his tight trousers. He _wanted_ this boy.

He wanted him in a way that he would never want _her_.

"You will find him and kill him, yes?" Bellatrix simpered. He did not look away from the image and she _burned_ with fury. "Bring his heart back to us?"

Voldemort hummed, taking a step closer.

Bellatrix spun, glaring at the unsuspecting beauty. So unconcerned. So _unobservant_. He was _nothing_ special.

"Eternal life, Tom. Life and beauty," she snarled. His true name caught his attention and he looked at her. Bellatrix grinned when the image of Harry Potter fizzled away. She walked up to her brother, cupping his face in her hands and she leaned up, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. He stiffened under her hands as she breathed in his scent, drawing her lips down his jaw, whimpering. "Promise me…"

He nodded. "Yes. We will consume his heart…"

"Tomorrow, Tom. _Tomorrow_ ," she hissed, dragging her tongue down his jaw. How far would he let her take it, she wondered. Tom pretended, oh he _pretended_ but, he always gave into her whims.

He took a step back, holding onto her shoulders. "Tomorrow, I will set out, after the morning ceremonies. And by nightfall, we shall consume his heart just as we consumed his mother's sixteen years before. I promise."

:::

 **A/N:** This chapter is much shorter than the last two-shorter by 2000 words but, the next chapter DEFINITELY makes up for it, so look out for that, probably tomorrow or Saturday morning. I hope you enjoyed!

Please _review_!


	7. Chapter Five

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : I'm very clearly on fire. I hope this lasts.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Five

Hermione cleared her throat, expressionless as the ladies spun around her, cooing over the jewels and silks and velvets that Draco had thrown at her. They picked over her 'gifts' like vultures. She would give them all of it if she could get away from it. She lifted her gaze to the young girl that was attempting to tame her bushy curls; a difficult task to be sure if one wasn't accustomed to such things.

She did not offer to help. A princess did not do what others would do for her. That was what Draco told her the first time she had tried to help a scullery maid on the ship from the Republic to the port city, Velothi, in the East. He had smacked Hermione so hard her teeth had rattled and then had dragged the maid by her hair, humiliating her.

Now, Hermione knew better. She knew better than to help and she knew better than to give the servants a hard time. She knew what it was like to be treated like dirt and she would not be a reason for Draco to be more of a brat than he already was. After all, she knew what it was like to be a servant; she had been one since the day of her father's untimely death.

"What is your name?" Hermione asked. The young maid blinked her owlish grey eyes and smiled, sweet and empty.

"Luna Lovegood, your Highness," the girl giggled, pushing a blonde strand of hair behind her ear.

Hermione snorted. "No need to call me that. I'm not a princess yet. I'm just...Hermione Granger."

"You're not just anything," Luna said, dreamily. "One day...one day."

"One day?" Hermione asked.

Luna shook her head and reached for the Sleekeazy pomade on the vanity, smearing the white potion over Hermione's hair and sighing, proudly when it began to straighten out. Luna began to twist her hair into four elaborate braids.

"You are a brave woman, Lady Granger," Luna said.

Hermione's sharp eyes locked with Luna's grey eyes in the mirror. Luna wasn't lying. Hermione could see the genuine kindness in her eyes; she _believed_ what she was saying. Hermione sighed, looking away.

"You're mistaken. If I were brave, I would have run from the Prince a long time ago."

If Hermione were brave, she would've run from the Prince and Lady Zabini and her idiot step-brother. No, instead, Hermione escaped through books and was clever enough to survive but, never truly live. Luna snorted, shaking her head as she weaved Hermione's hair into a bun across the top of her head.

"You stood up to the Dark Lord Voldemort. That...is a very brave thing," Luna said.

Hermione stared at her reflection. She didn't recognize herself. This thin ghost of a girl with bruises hidden by powders and creams. She missed her hair, frizzy and wild and free or pulled back into a braid. Her stomach turned; this was a _princess_ that stared back at her. Again, she cursed that moronic, busybody witch, Fleur Delacour, for even _suggesting_ that they go to that stupid ball in the first place.

"The Dark Lord is…" Hermione trailed off, looking around at the bustling servants. They didn't seem to be paying any mind to her. It only aroused her suspicions.

Lady Zabini was cruel but, she had taught Hermione well on how to pick up information that she wasn't supposed to know. In the Republic, Lady Zabini wasn't known as the Black Widow for nothing.

"The Dark Lord is?" Luna prompted. Hermione shook her head, refusing to answer. Luna nodded and reached for the thick chains of silver, looping them around Hermione's neck like a collar. "The Dark Lord is defensive about Mortem Phoenix. Gold would be better for your coloring but, gold on this day would irritate him."

"How petty," Hermione said, snippily.

Luna smiled. "Irritating him means enraging Bellatrix. She has...rages. Tantrums, really. She nearly hit me once. He stopped her," Luna explained. She sighed. "The Dark Lord has always been kind to me."

"He doesn't seem like a kind person," Hermione said, her nose wrinkling.

Luna smiled. "He is not but, nevertheless, he had always been kind to me. He saved me. When I was a child. From persecution."

Hermione straightened, her curiosity piqued. She straightened. "How?"

"Well-" Luna started.

There was a crack and all the servants shrieked. Luna did not. She turned, her big grey orbs settling on the little house elf. Hermione's heart ached as she stared at the little brown creature wringing his hands and staring with big green eyes.

"D-Dobby has been told to let Princess Granger know that the Warden is here!" the house elf squeaked before he Disapparated immediately.

"The Warden? She's here? The Warden?"

"She returned. Sixteen years…"

"The _Warden_."

The handmaidens burst into whispers. Luna was silent for a moment before she spun into action, snatching an enormous turquoise dress, heavy velvet and brocade fabrics. Luna hummed, inspecting it and nodding.

"The Warden?" Hermione asked.

Luna looked up, her eyes flashing. "Princess Andromeda, the Warden of the West. Come, Lady Granger. It's time to dress."

 **MIRROR**

Voldemort glanced over at his sister. Bellatrix smiled at him. She was washed clean of the blood around her mouth and beneath her nails. Her hair was washed and braided elaborately, like Southerner. His lips curled with distaste. Bellatrix was Northern-looking and still, she tried to appease to the fashion of outsiders, of the court, as if she wasn't the one that was supposed to set trends. Voldemort pushed these thoughts from his mind, focusing on the old crone, McGonagall.

"What is it, now?" Voldemort sighed. "Is the feast prepared or has a house elf burned it _again_?"

"No, your Grace. Your Imperial Majesty, something else," McGonagall said. Voldemort's lips quirked into an amused smirk. She was an old woman, and had no problem showing her distaste.

Bellatrix sighed, bored. "It's Mortem Phoenix. There is little time to prepare so, whatever you bother our brother for shall be important," Bellatrix threatened, drolly. Her eyes flashed. "Or I'll cut out your tongue, crone."

McGonagall sneered. "The Warden of the West arrives with a caravan. Rooms are not prepared for her household."

Voldemort's smile slipped away and he stiffened.

After sixteen years, his sister had come home.

He could hear them entering and McGonagall stepped to the side. The court split down the center, all eyes trained on the doors to the Great Hall. The enormous doors, nearly two stories high swung open.

"Announcing, Her Grace, Princess Andromeda, Warden of the West!"

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed as the woman entered and eyes fell on the infamous Warden. Andromeda did not shy away from the gazes. She revelled in them. Her exile had been self-imposed, and she was back in court on her own terms. Of course she revelled in her rare win against her brother.

The Warden looked only slightly older. Her hair was light brown and normally wild. She had tamed it with the braids of a warrior woman. There were wrinkles at the corner of her eyes but, that was the only part of her that spoke to her age. The Warden wore a long dress of chainmail that bared her arms. She sported pauldrons on either shoulder. Her lady carried the broadsword that she had fashioned herself.

Her dark eyes still held grief and stony rage.

The Warden halted with her party when she was just in front of the raised dais where the twins waited for her. Bellatrix leaned forward, a terribly wicked smile playing on her lips. Andromeda return it, quieter and kinder.

She swept into a low curtsey, her eyes never leaving Voldemort's face.

"Your Imperial Majesty...Sister, dear."

Bellatrix rose and crashed forward, gathering her sister into a tight hug, an unhinged smile upon her lovely face.

"Oh, Andromeda, it's been so long since we've seen you," Bellatrix whispered. Voldemort's eyes narrowed further as Andromeda's gaze remained on him. "We hope you won't leave so soon."

"Of course not, Bellatrix. I've missed you as well. We've come so far, from across the Narrow Sea, and it will take some time to create more Portkeys and to gather more provisions," Andromeda said, voice sharp. She kissed Bellatrix's cheek. "Yes, I decided it was high time that I visit our family."

"Not that this isn't touching, but Bellatrix, please show some semblance of decorum," Voldemort bit out, nastily. Bellatrix jerked away from her younger sister, flushing.

"Our apologies," Bellatrix murmured. She peeled away, slinking back onto the throne, falling into it lazily.

The eldest of the Slytherin siblings looked at his opponent. Andromeda leaned forward, vibrating with anticipation. Voldemort reminded himself that this wasn't his passive little sister that had run away thrice-twice for a man and once out of grief. This was a woman that battled on the behalf of the West, dealing with skirmishes served by the Order with an iron fist. She was the Warden, in all ways that Narcissa was not. Voldemort stared at the pretty girl that held Andromeda's sword. That sword, forged in Gubraithian fire, had executed many that thought they could stir trouble in her territories; the Order and his own knights alike.

"Well, if it isn't my beloved brother, Lord of our glorious Empire."

The mockery permeated even the way she stood. Bitterness twisted her mouth and the court shifted uncomfortably. Her household didn't even flinch, except for the pretty girl that flushed under his gaze. She had trained them well.

"What are you here, Andromeda?" Voldemort drawled.

Andromeda smiled. "I've missed you so _much_. Must have I any other reason?"

Voldemort stared, his crimson eyes burning as fury stirred within him. Andromeda stared back, dark eyes devoid of anything but haunting grief; the type of grief that ate away at her being.

Voldemort had put that there.

"I wish you would've told us. We don't have any rooms prepared for you. How long will you be staying?" Voldemort asked.

Andromeda hummed. "Some weeks, I think. I have left my most trusted, our cousin, Regulus, in my stead. No matter about rooms. We have brought tents. I will prepare my own rooms in the castle; my lady will stay with me. The rest of my household is hardened. Tents is all we need. Now, come greet us, brother."

She held out her hands, smiling. Voldemort growled low in his throat and moved towards her, taking her hand. She leaned into him, brushing her lips against his cheek until they were just above his ear.

"I remember it so well," she rasped. "The blood, on the carpet. Right in front of the dais, you beheaded Godric and then Bella murdered his wife. Narcissa...she's always been a cruel one, though you ignore it. Tortured Helga. I gave her mercy. Do you remember?"

"I remember," Voldemort whispered.

"I spoke about monsters. What monsters they've made us all," Andromeda rasped. She pulled back, clutching his face and smiled. "I can still taste it on my tongue. Your rage. So full of fury. What are you angry at?"

Voldemort grabbed her wrist, tearing her hand away from his skin. He glared at her. "Andromeda…" he warned.

"I'm home, brother. Kinslayer," Andromeda whispered.

Voldemort smirked. "You mean 'Kingslayer'."

Andromeda barked out a hard laugh. "I mean what I say... _Kinslayer_."

 **MIRROR**

She pushed her way through the packed crowds, keeping her eyes peeled for the procession. Her nose wrinkled as the scent of piss and filth threatened to overwhelm her. Even breathing through her mouth wasn't the best option-she could taste the sourness of Hogsmeade on her tongue. She turned her gaze. Less than league away, protected by gates was Hogwarts Castle, a place in constant summer even while the city freezed.

She was so close, she could taste it, along with the sourness of poverty. It was better than she had come instead of Ron. Ron wouldn't have been able to control herself, being so close to the source of their problems and unable to end them.

Nymphadora Tonks pulled her blood red hood over her short, spiky pink hair. It was better not to draw attention to herself. Her dark eyes scanned the crowd for a target but, she couldn't find anyone useful just yet. Tonks relaxed against the wall of the tavern, pressing her lips into a pout and twitching her nose. She squirmed uncomfortably as she felt her breasts grow, just enough that she was nearly spilling out of her bodice, her lips plumped.

Someone would come to her, then. They always did.

Toks sneered as the oblivious crowds, smelling of shit and ash, drank their ale and ate their pastries, ecstatic about something so damn _barbaric_. They were all fools, Muggles and magic-users alike, and those who knew what Mortem Phoenix truly was, but still dance, were even more so.

"You there. You're a pretty one, aren't ye?"

Tonks smirked. They always came to her. The drunken knight stumbled towards her, eyes glued to her swollen chest. Tonks leaned forward, a winning smile on her face. Right now, she wasn't Tonks. She wasn't clumsy or funny. She was seductive and beautiful.

The man was half a head shorter than her. Perfect. A better angle to stare at her tits, then.

"And your name is, sir?" she purred, brushing her fingers along his filthy whiskers, wet with liquor.

"Anything you want it to be, pretty one," he slurred. Tonks rolled her eyes. A knight, sure, but a drunken Auror as drunk as he wouldn't serve her purposes.

Best to observe then.

"No interest if you're drunk," Tonks drawled. "And you're rather tiny, aren't you? Who's to say that the rest of you isn't as well?"

The man blinked a times before he growled, spurned by her dismissal of his manhood. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, jerking her forward roughly. "What you say, bitch?"

Tonks grinned. A fight?

But, no, she reminded herself. She couldn't fuck this up. Tonks only reached with her free hand into her pocket and pulled forth her wand, pressing it to the underside of the Auror's chin.

" _Obliviate_ ," she whispered and then, the Auror's eyes glazed over. He twitched for a moment and took a step back, dazed.

Tonks twitched her nose again and her hair darkened to a violent purple and grew to her shoulders. Her breasts shrank again and her mouth thinned to her true mouth. She slipped back into the crowd, moving forward towards the road.

"Look! The prisoners!"

Tonks looked up and trembled when she saw them. Leading the party was the hard face of the infamous Rodolphus Lestrange, the pale white scar running through his right eyes and ending at his jaw, livid against his tanned skin. His face was a perpetual grimace and Tonks suddenly remembered falling rain and steel clashing, sparks flying. Tonks took a step back, pulling her blood hood up tighter around her face.

Tonks' eyes darted towards the jail wagon and her stomach clenched. They were filthy. Dirty rags were tired around their faces, blood and shit crusted in their tunics. Their red beards were nearly black with blood. Maggots crawled through the tangled mess. The phoenix tattoo on their arms were bared to the world. Tonks was sick to her stomach.

Azkaban had not been kind to her brothers-in-arms.

And they were lost to her. That was clear.

The Dark Lord had made his move. A declaration of war. That was all Tonks needed to hear.

 **ON THE WALL**

Harry looked down at his rabbit stew and nodded at the taste. It was good, well-spiced and hearty enough to satisfy his beastly relatives. Enough that they couldn't fault him for a full bowl of it too. Good. Harry shivered despite the heat of the flames. He always felt odd on Mortem Phoenix, like he was being set on fire and yet, still so cold.

"Boy! Get in here! The ceremony!"

Petunia's shriek rang through the house and Harry nearly dropped his spoon. He bent down, attempting to calm the flames but, it settle before he could even throw ash onto it to put it out some. Without time to consider another strange encounter with the flames, he dashed towards the open sitting area. The green-eyed beauty hummed, preparing himself for Mortem Phoenix.

And the anniversary of the day that unknown people had dumped on the Dursleys' doorstep. _Joy._

Harry sighed and entered the sitting area, taking in the entire family gathered on the lumpy hay stuffed sofa. Dudley sat on one end, his face flushed pink, bursting out of his jerkin, and Uncle Vernon sat on the other end, twiddling with his oversized moustache. Stuck between the two fat men was his rod-thin Aunt Petunia, nearly crushed by the excess flesh.

"On the floor, boy," Vernon snarled, pointing a big sausage-like finger. Harry slid onto the floor and, not for the first time, he wondered how the man and his son could be so large when there was rarely enough food for all of them.

There was a knock on the door and Dudley, the giant blond pig, darted up as if he were an eager puppy. Harry was impressed. Dudley was a giant lump of nothing, usually, and the fact that he was getting the door deserved a damn award.

Harry's mood blackened. Dudley's gang of idiots lumbered in, shouting and yelping at each other. They fell all over-Malcolm, Gordon, and _Piers_. Piers elbowed Gordon and Malcolm, nodding at Harry and they leered at him. Harry shifted uncomfortably and pulled his legs closer to his chest. They looked at him like he was meat; something be devoured, consumed.

The gang greeted Petunia and Vernon.

"Fine, strapping young men," Vernon grumbled with a smile and Petunia simpered, asking after their mothers and the like. They crowded towards the couch, Piers setting himself on the floor right beside Harry.

"Hey, Harry," he said, voice soft.

"It's starting," Harry said, instead, looking towards the mirror.

The Slytherin banner flashed in the glass for just a second before the reflection rippled and revealed the gilded Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle. Harry was torn between envy and disgust as he caught sight of all the magical lords and ladies of court, drinking wine and cubed cheeses and quail. Indulging themselves while the god people of Little Whinging had nothing. The courts quieted as the brass sounded and they floated towards the sides, nearly standing shoulder to shoulder with the servants that served them.

The Gilded Throne-such a monstrosity-sat upon a dais. Below the dais were four chairs, where there were normally two-one for Princess Narcissa and the other for her son.

Harry watched as the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The Inner Circle of the Knights of Walpurgis paraded in, in complete sync. Their eyes were hard as the armor and battle robes they wore and their arms were bared. Harry stared at the tattoo; a skull with a snake escaping. The _Death_ Eaters.

Lord Lucius of House Malfoy and Sir Severus Snape of House Prince split and stood on either side of the long walkway. Lucius barked out a command and the Death Eaters all pulled their wands and swords. They crossed their wands over their chest and held their swords high, touching the tips of them, as if forming an archway.

Princess Narcissa, Warden of the East emerged. Her platinum blonde hair was braided down the side of her face. She looked even paler in her ice blue gown, layered with silks and scarves of navy blue. Her lip was curled, as if she smelled something terrible. Perhaps her upper lip. Harry smirked. She was a cold woman, a polished diamond.

Narcissa stood before her silver chair.

Harry looked as the focus shifted. He gaped.

The Warden of the West. Princess Andromeda had a kinder facer than her younger sister, no matter that she was battle-hardened. Her heavy brows were pulled into a tight frown. Her brown curls had been tamed into the braids of a warrior, and her dress was made of chainmail. She carried her sword, the sword that she supposedly used to execute people herself with. She stopped in front of her own chair and they waited.

Finally, Prince Draco emerged, guiding an unknown young woman down the aisle.

"The Prince is engaged to be married?" Petunia asked.

Dudley snorted. "She's rather bony, isn't she? Like a common girl. Don't Princes marry ladies, Mum?"

"That prince doesn't," Harry said.

Piers laughed, brushing against him. Harry grimaced and turned his attention back to the mirror.

The Prince looked around, his grey eyes haughty, his chin pointier than ever. He wore the finest leather boots that Harry had ever seen and he couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy. Harry stared at the woman arm-in-arm with Draco. Her dress was _ugly_ and voluminous, layers upon layers of skirts. She stood stiffly, her eyes staring straight ahead but, she seemed unaware of her surroundings.

Prince Draco guided her to her chair and he stood in front of his own, smug.

And then the Queen and the Dark Lord.

Queen Bellatrix the Beautiful moved down the aisle, dressed in black and purple. A crown of diamonds and onyx adorned her lovely hair and she sneered at the court. Even with an ugly expression, she was still one of the most beautiful women that Harry had ever seen.

The Dark Lord walked by her side, his hand resting on the hilt of his claymore, Horcrux. His crimson eyes glowed and Harry shivered. Since he was a child, those crimson eyes had always terrified him. Harry watched some of the ladies and lords of the court swoon as the Dark Lord scanned the crowd. So, it wasn't a problem for some people, then.

The Dark Lord guided Queen Bellatrix up the stairs and settled her onto her throne. As soon as she sat, the entire court broke into raucous clapping, bowing and curtseying. The Death Eaters sheathed their wands and swords and stepped back, allowing space for the prisoners. The four-the Warden, Princess Narcissa, Prince Draco, and the girl-sat down in unison, eyes cold, ready to pass judgment.

"What have you brought us this Mortem Phoenix?" Bellatrix asked, speaking those holy words that she asked every year.

"Fabian and Gideon of House Prewett, your Imperial Majesty," Lord Rodolphus of House Lestrange announced, his voice cold. He stepped out of line, into the middle of the walkway.

Harry could hear the rattling of the jail wagon as it approached the Great Hall.

Bellatrix leaned forward, baring her teeth. " _Blood traitors_ ," she hissed.

"Yes, your Imperial Majesty," Sir Severus confirmed.

"Their crimes, Sir?" Bellatrix demanded.

"High treason, punishable without trial and with immediate death," Rodolphus said.

Harry shivered. The words were always the same. Their _crimes_ were never-changing. But, the Slytherins had never executed Lords of a House, even a disgraced house like _Prewett_.

Queen Bellatrix, Empress of Albion stood, holding her arms wide. Her gaze went blank suddenly but, she still moved.

"Sixteen years. Sixteen long years since we have fully claimed the empire that is rightfully ours. And we must say, what a glorious sixteen years it has been, full of prosperity and beauty!" Queen Bellatrix laughed, her peculiar look of cruelty melting into something that was dangerously akin to serenity.

Harry frowned. The court was blind in their applause. Blinded by the gold that they had claimed, deaf to the cries of the Muggles that suffered so that their economy could prosper.

The Queen hesitated, her eyes dazed. She stared at the ground and Harry's eyes narrowed. The Queen swayed on the spot before she stiffened, and looked away, eyes still glazed.

"Sixteen years to this day, our brother, the Dark Lord Voldemort, disposed of the traitor pretender, Lily of House Gryffindor. In an to protect all that we hold dear about our beloved empire, my brother executed a woman we viewed as our sister though she was a dangerous threat to the reign that we all hold dear. A dangerous that wished to _destroy_ us and the prosperity we promised. In remembrance of what happens to traitors, in remembrance of the great sacrifice our brother made, we celebrate the Death of the Phoenix."

The Queen held up her hand, fingers falling limply. The court applauded again.

Harry shook his head in disgust. Vernon, Dudley, and Dudley's gang were taken with Bellatrix's beauty, hanging onto every word. Petunia seemed far more intrigued by the Queen's twin brother.

Harry watched the Dark Lord. He _was_ a handsome man. A strong jaw, full lips, broad shoulders. Harry shifted, his breath coming a little quicker. The Dark Lord's crimson eyes were haunting. And then, Harry watched his lips again. His lips were _moving_.

The Dark Lord was mouthing the words that Bellatrix spoke, as if breathing them into her mind.

"And now, sixteen years later, there are still those who hope to destroy us. But, we shall not let them. The regime is _strong_ ," Bellatrix promised and she dippped her head, her chin dropping ever so much and then jerking up. "In the face of pretenders and traitors, we _endure_. This year, we do not celebrate. No. Today is a day of _warning_."

Harry gaped as he saw her mirror Voldemort's actions.

"Today we humbly present before you, the traitors that have killed four of our knights and nearly murdered Lord Antonin of House Dolohov, Duke of Godric's Hollow. The traitors: Fabian Gideon Prewett," Bellatrix offered, bowing mockingly.

Harry watched as the jail wagon opened at the mouth of the Great Hall, and he winced when he saw the two men being led in chains and rags. Their curly red hair was dark with blood and dirt, rags tied around their eyes, blinding them. They limped, stumbled over their own broken bodies. The dementors had their fun with the pair of them.

Harry's heart ached for them and he felt tears sting at his eyes.

Lord Antonin stepped out of the line and settled between them, pushing them down to their knees and the one on the right fell forward, crashing onto his face on the hard stone, covered only by the thin white running carpet. Harry winced. He could nearly hear the man's nose cracking, breaking.

"The price of treason is death, delivered to them by the very man that they attempted to kill. Today, the Order of the Phoenix shall learn that no one is above the law. This is justice," Voldemort said, though only Bellatrix's voice echoed throughout the entire hall.

Harry swallowed as Bellatrix blinked back into being, the glaze disappearing. Voldemort melted back as Bellatrix collapsed onto the throne, no longer his mouthpiece. The Queen gathered her wits and a sadistic grin spread across her face as Dolohov reached forward, ripping the rags from the Prewetts' faces, exposing their eyes. Eyes full of defiance, so unafraid.

"Last words?" Bellatrix prompted.

One of the Prewett twins looked up, hatred brewing in his chocolate brown eyes.

"Yeah, I've got a few."

"Speak then, Fabian Prewett," Voldemort siad, voice so cold. Harry's eyes widened at his voice and scarlet rushed to his cheeks.

Voldemort had never spoken once at Mortem Phoenix in all the years that Petunia and Vernon had deemed Harry old enough to witness the executions. The man's voice was rough with emotion but, still smooth like velvet and cold as ice. A voice as beautiful as the man's face. A voice as unnerving at the man's countenance.

Fabian let out a wet cough, mucus and blood dribbling from his mouth into his maggot-infested beard.

"I am _glad_ that your knights are dead, Voldemort. I killed them with a light heart and if dying gives the Order more of a chance in our goal to overthrow you, Usurper, than I shall die, proudly," Fabian snarled, and then he spat a glob of blood on the floor, brave and true to the end.

Voldemort lifted his hand and Fabian bowed his head, baring his neck. Dolohov came up behind him and swung his sword, cleanly cutting through sinewy and muscle and bone. The man's head was separated from his shoulders and it fell with a deafening thud, rolling once. Harry could just see Fabian's left eye, still full of defiance.

Gideon didn't look at his brother's head. Instead, he looked straight ahead, stone-faced.

"Any last words, Gideon Prewett, last son of Prewett?" Bellatrix asked, her cruel gaze steady.

"Yes."

"Speak, then," Bellatrix commanded.

Gideon lips pulled into a triumphant smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the court! There is a King!" Gideon declared. "A King with a true claim to the throne! He has many names! The-One-Who-Killed-The-Summer! His birth marked the night the fires roared! He is the Wildfyre! May the true King rise and take his throne!"

Bellatrix swayed, fear crossing her face, turning her ashen. She took a step back, disoriented. Dolohov stood, stricken and brought his sword down in a frenzy. Gideon let out a guttural scream, blood praying. Dolohov tried to rip his sword out but it was stuck deep.

"Death to the Empress Usurper! Death to Bellatrix! Long live the Prince of Gryffindor! Long live the King-Emperor of Albion! Long live the Fairest-of-Them-All!" Gideon shrieked through his pain,blood gushing from the wound, his eyes rolling around his head like a doll.

Harry shrunk into himself, gasping. He looked up at Petunia. Her face was hidden in Vernon's shoulder, and the man looked particularly green. Dudley and his gang were enraptured by the gory mess.

"MOVE!" Voldemort roared and he drew his claymore, Horcrux.

Harry covered his face with hands, peeking between his fingers.

The Dark Lord charged down the steps and pushed Dolohov out of the way. The man planted one booted foot between Gideon Prewett's shoulder blades and wrenched Dolohov's sword out, tossing it to the side. Voldemort swung Horcrux in a great arc and Harry heard the squelch and a thud.

Gideon's head rolled and Voldemort's head swooped down and he held the head up for all the court to see. He didn't care about the blood dripping onto his boots, the sinews of muscles and skin hanging from the man's head. His crimson gaze called for blood.

"Let them come! Let all and any that wish to challenge the regime, come!" Voldemort roared. "If anyone from the Order is watching, let it be known, that tonight, I shall see the Prince of Gryffindor's head on my wall, his body burned, and his heart consumed. This I swear!"

Voldemort dropped the head and stormed down the blood-stained runner. The court stared, shell-shocked. Voldemort stopped in the doorways of the Great Hall, turning to face them all.

"Long live the Queen!" he hissed and disappeared from their sight.

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

Sir Severus Snape stepped forward, kneeling before the Queen-Empress Bellatrix.

"Long live the Queen," he prompted.

The Death Eaters drew their wands, crossing it over their chests, saluting her. The court dropped into shows of reverence before the Empress.

Solemnly, they echoed, "Long live the Queen."

Harry shivered as the mirror rippled, leaving a silent room. Harry looked around but, Dudley and his gang were already whispering about the 'cool' execution, looking over at Harry far too much for his liking. Vernon was murmuring reassurances to Petunia but, she didn't seem to be listening.

No, she was staring at Harry and she looked _afraid_.

 **WHO**

Voldemort stormed out of the Great Hall and out of Hogwarts Castle. He waved his wand, conjuring a warmer cloak for himself. He felt the cloth hit his back and felt it fasten around his neck. The Dark Lord trembled with incredible fury.

"My Lord-"

Voldemort spun around, his wandpoint pressed against the underside of Lucius' chin. Lucius lifted his hands in surrender and Voldemort twitched, overwhelmed the urge to _curse_ someone. He took a deep breath through his nose, centering himself.

"Severus, Lucius, I am about to embark," Voldemort hissed, his voice barely above a whisper so that the two lieutenants had to strain to hear his words.

"Alone, my Lord?" Severus asked through clenched teeth.

"This is a journey I must make alone," Voldemort said faintly and he turned on his heel, continuing across the grounds, his eyes trained on the stables. His lieutenants scrambled after him, just on his heels.

"Prewett spoke of a Prince. Of Gryffindor. Lily had a son?" Severus asked and Voldemort paused, remembering suddenly that Severus had known Lily in their youth.

Voldemort paused and closed his eyes, taking a deep inhale, reaching out with his magic. He reached far and wide, longer and longer until he felt his magic would snap and then-the barest hint of smoky incense on the border of the North and East, just twenty leagues away. Smoke just like _Lily_.

"My Lord?" Lucius whispered.

Voldemort opened his eyes again and continued marching towards the stable.

The stable boy jumped up, caught in a bout of laziness. He trembled under Voldemort's chilling gaze.

"M-my L-lord, t-the ball?"

"Fetch me the fastest horse we have. Now."

The boy stumbled off and Voldemort closed his eyes again, centering himself.

He had killed the little bird and the Child of Fire alone.

He would kill the Fairest alone as well.

"My Lord, this is hasty. We should plan and you shouldn't go alone," Lucius insisted.

Voldemort stiffened as he felt the magic of his nephew fast approaching. He turned, unable to hide his ire. The platinum haired boy held his head high, a haughty expression on his face.

Draco looked so much like his father. Lucius had once had the same look on his face until Voldemort had promptly beaten it out of him. Lucius had once confused confidence with arrogance and had believed that arrogance would put him on Voldemort's good side.

He quickly learned that Voldemort didn't possess a good side.

The only way for Voldemort to tolerate a man was when they were either witty or useful. Lucius had opted to be both. It seemed that Prince Draco was in need of the same reminder, as he was neither witty nor useful.

"Uncle! Where are you going?" Draco demanded. Voldemort's lip curled just the tiniest bit.

"I do not see how it concern you."

"If it's about the Prince of Gryffindor, I wish to go! I will not allow some Pretender to threaten the line of succession! _I_ am the Crown Prince," Draco whined, voice low and shrill.

Voldemort stared at the boy for a long moment. He looked to Severus and Lucius. Severus grit his teeth and Lucius looked away in shame. Voldemort turned back to the boy and backhanded him.

Draco cried out in shock, clutching his cheek and flushing in humiliation. He looked to his father, his eyes wide. Lucius looked away.

"This does not concern you," Voldemort bit out. "He shall be dead by nightfall."

"I'm the Crown Prince! You had no right!" Draco whimpered.

Voldemort drew himself to his full height, staring down at the whimpering boy.

"I have every right, Draco. What you fail to understand that I _made_ your aunt the Queen. They call me Kingmaker long before you were a thought in your mother's head. I make the kings of this empire. _I_ own the empire and the Gilded Throne. I own _power_ and you...do not. So, you will hold your tongue before I kill you where you stand. Return to your Mudblood bride, now," Voldemort snarled as the stable boy brought over the black palfrey, a stallion that Voldemort had tamed long ago.

Voldemort shoved his foot into the stirrup and mounted the great beast. He looked down at his lieutenants.

"Maintain the Queen's status quo. Protect the crown. I shall return," Voldemort swore.

Severus sighed. "At least, tell us where you go, my Lord," Severus pleaded.

"Little Whinging," Voldemort hissed.

The Dark Lord grabbed the reins and squeezed his thighs against the stallion's side. The stallion broke into a walk and then a gaited gallop, leaving Draco in a cloud dust, utter humiliation coloring his face pink.

 **IS FAIREST**

"Draco, my love?"

The Crown Prince glanced up from his book, his lips cringing into a soft smile as his beautiful mother drifted into the room, so pristine, so perfect that she looked like an ice sculpture. Her own lips turned into a small smile as she saw her son. He felt a thrill crash through him; he was only one to get that type of reaction from her.

"Mother! What is it?"

The Warden of the East sat on the edge of the ornate bed, patting the next that Draco had arranged underneath him. Plush, warm comforters and overstuffed pillows. The bed of a king. Her little king. Narcissa smiled softly. Draco's face was no longer flushed but, Narcissa knew he still burned with embarrassment. The stable boy had seen his humiliation and it had spread through the servants up to the court not long after. Narcissa ran her hair through the short blond hairs at the nape of his neck.

"I have heard of what transpired in the stables," Narcissa began, sympathetic.

Draco sat up, rolling over, immediately. He rubbed the side of his face, and winced. His uncle had _slapped_ him. As if he were nothing but a boy and not the Crown Prince of Albion. There was no love lost between Draco and his uncle but, Draco was his _Prince_. He participated in council meetings nad law making and yet, every time he expressed interest in his birthright, his uncle embarrassed him.

"From Father?" Draco spat. That had burned the most. His father had looked away while his son was spurned.

"No," Narcissa allowed.

Draco froze, a terrible flush spreading across his cheeks. "From _who_ , Mother?"

"The servants...talk," Narcissa finished. Draco sneered. He'd have that stable boy whipped and strung up by his _hamstrings_. "My love, you mustn't let this get the better of you. Your uncle is vexed. The war is long and hard and pretenders are abound. He only wishes to protect the future of our line. He shall never strike you again."

"He treats me like a child, Mother!" Draco shouted, knotting his fingers in his bedsheets.

Narcissa cooed, nodding. "I know, my love. I know. But, soon, you shall be emperor. I promise you, my darling boy. He shall never be angry with you again, when you are emperor," Narcissa said, her voice hardening and Draco frowned at the ruthlessness in her voice.

Draco still couldn't help but feel a thrill at her promise. And then his face crumpled.

"How? Aunt Bellatrix will never relinquish the throne. She grows madder every passing day," Draco drawled.

"Don't worry your head, my love. I will _speak_ with Bellatrix. She knows her time comes to an end, and it is high time that you assume your duties. Some else shall sit on the throne. You," Narcissa said, her voice chilly and Draco frowned in confusion as she reached out, smoothing out his brow. "If she does not...take a step back from politics, she may fall prey to the same end as her predecessors."

Draco squirmed. His mother was not jesting and though she spoke in circles, he could read the intention between her words. A threat.

"But Slytherins never betray one another. We are not each other's enemies."

Draco stared into his mother's light blue eyes. He had never noticed before but, they were so light that, in a certain light, they appeared white. It was ethereal, angelic, nearly. Draco smiled. His mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. Even more beautiful than his aunt. Draco felt a another flash of fury; that insane woman didn't deserve to rule over the great empire that was Albion.

"My son, everyone who isn't us is an enemy. In the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground."

 **OF**

"Thanks Mr. and Mrs. Dursley! Harry really wanted to go!"

Harry looked away, his shoulders hunched as Dudley's gang thanked the Dursleys profusely, grinning and laughing. Dudley looked less than pleased but, the rest of his gang leered at Harry. Fucking disgusting. Harry kept silent. He didn't need Vernon yelling at him for being an 'ungrateful brat'.

Piers grinned at Harry and threw his arm over Harry's shoulder, tugging him close.

"Why does _he_ get walk with him?" Malcolm hissed at Gordon and Gordon said, nothing, just stared at Harry, his eyes raking over him again and again, undressing him.

Harry shuddered.

"Just stay close, Harry. We don't want you cold," Piers said. He leaned over, winking at his friends. "I'll keep him warm."

They laughed, even Dudley and Harry sighed, pulling away from Piers.

"I think I'll be fine," he muttered. "Let's just...go."

Vernon gruffly agreed and Petunia gave a weak nod. She stared at Harry with that same strange look, almost desperation. Harry turned away. Petunia _never_ wanted to talk to him and when she did, she was always cross because she couldn't avoid it.

Harry sighed and led the gang out of the house, towards the Pit. The youth of the village were all probably there already, dancing and jigging until nightfall, when they would break the night fast. Then the entire village would return to the Pit and revel in the night.

"You're lucky that Dad said yes, freak. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be going," Dudley snapped.

Piers nodded, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulders again, his hold tightening this time.

"Yeah, well, it isn't. Harry is my date tonight and you'll be civil," Piers harped.

Harry's eyes widened and groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked over at Malcolm and Gordon. They were staring at him, their eyes on his neck, his lips. Fucking _hell._

"Did you say 'date'? I must've misheard you," Harry said, evenly. Piers looked at him, thick brows furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah, a date."

Harry stared at him. "I'd rather die," he said with utter finality. He stalked towards the Pit. Better than the Dursleys where he'd be sent to his room until supper. Vernon would think him _ungrateful_ or something.

Harry snorted as he heard Gordon and Malcolm ribbing Piers for striking out. It was like a game for them. Next up would probably be Gordon and his approach was far more forward than Piers', if that was even possible.

Harry squinted at the loud babbling of teenagers. The music was already loud, drumming and fiddling and someone was playing a lute and another singing. Harry's eyes narrowed and he pushed his glasses farther up his nose. They were already dancing, going around in circles, watching the play fight in the center. Teenagers were pressed up against trees, kissing amorously, dishonoring their families as all teenagers tended to do.

Harry _wished_ he could dishonor his family, _Merlin_.

Harry was beautiful. He knew that. He was also a beautiful _virgin_. Beautiful and virginal plus drunken teeangers never equaled a good time for him.

The girls and boys tossed their skirts and cloaks, whirling round and round. Harry stared at the mock swordfight. Two teenage boys that looked like they had practiced all year for this.

As if they hadn't all witnessed a double execution.

"Pretty little Harry Evans."

Harry's eyes narrowed. So, Gordon had mustered up the courage then.

Gordon was a tall, bulky man with more spots on his face than Piers. His hair was closely shaven to his head and his head was disproportionate to the rest of his body. But, that didn't matter much to Harry. Even if Gordon looked like the Dark Lord Voldemort, with his gorgeous hair and that jawline and-besides the point-Gordon would still be the ugliest piece of shit on the planet. He was, in short, an arse.

"Goodness, Gordon, did someone hit you with the ugly branch again?" Harry asked, sweetly.

Gordon's eyes narrowed and he brushed a hand past his closely shaven head.

"Fuck you, whore. I was trying to be nice," Gordon hissed. He reached forward, pressing his hand to Harry's cheek. Harry slapped his hand away and crossed his arms.

"I'm no whore," Harry snarled, pushing past Gordon. Gordon caught his wrist, spinning him back around. "Gordon, get off me."

"I can be very nice to you, Harry. Very nice," Gordon whispered. He leaned in. "Make you _my_ whore."

Harry closed his eyes and centered his fury. His lips pulled in a sardonic smile.

"Fine, Gordon," Harry said. "If you can best me in a swordfight."

Gordon looked back at Dudley and the rest of the gang. They were watching, wide-eyed and smug. Gordon grinned.

"Easy," he said.

Harry sneered. If there was anything he hated more than being patronized for his looks, it was the fact that people thought he was some delicate little flower. Harry gracelessly elbowed his way past the circle, expecting Gordon to follow and he picked up one of the abandoned wooden swords.

The weight felt good in his hand.

Gordon smirked, picking up his own sword.

Harry smirked back and slowly lifted his sword, falling into the proper stance. Gordon's smirk slipped and he looked over at Dudley. Dudley shrugged. Gordon turned back to his opponent and Harry swallowed hard. Every time he practiced, every time his fury was piqued, he felt _it_.

The _burning_.

"On your count, Gordon," Harry called.

Gordon's eyes narrowed. " _One_ -" and then he lunged.

Harry ducked underneath the random swing, bringing his sword up across his forehead in a block. Gordon's eyes widened at the strength underneath the block and Harry lifted his foot and kicked Gordon's chest. _Hard_. Gordon stumbled back, looking at him in frenzied irritation.

"Cheaters never win," Harry taunted.

He threw himself forward, throwing the sword down in a devastating cut and thrust just as Gordon went for his open side, swinging his sword blindly. Harry spun out of the way, performing the same block. The fire burned. Harry's skin _burned_ and he reveled in it.

Harry parried another blow, countered with a thrust, and he spun around Gordon, kicking the back of his knees. Gordon fell to his knees and Harry looped an arm around, pressing the edge of the wooden sword against his neck.

"You _lose_ ," Harry hissed, dropping the sword and backing away.

Gordon was on his feet in a second, his face flushed with rage. Harry ignored the stares and ran through the gaps in the circle, deeper into the Forest.

They all were staring at him. As if he didn't belong and he _didn't_.

He wasn't supposed to be there. Unwanted. Unloved. They all thought that he thought that he was too good for them. They thought he was a stuck up little freak that played hard to get.

Harry _wasn't._

Freak, he heard. _Freak._

The burning was no longer comfortable. It made his heart ache, made his stomach turn. It was bright and wild. Harry gasped when he entered the clearing.

His sanctuary.

It was a quiet place that Harry had found when he was a kid, aching to be loved by the Dursleys. Full of wild flowers and too-long grass, it was perfect. Harry had never been as content as he was in the clearing. He felt the fire still, calm, and he closed his eyes as he fell onto the soft ground, surrounded by flowers and moss and weeds. This clearing was freaky like him. Still green in _October_. It made him smile.

Mortem Phoenix's weren't usually so _hard_ for him. It always ached and the burning was always stronger but, he never felt like he didn't belong. It was the only day that he felt almost okay. Usually, he would be in the company of a very strange tabby cat that came and went as she liked, and he'd be in his room, doing as he pleased.

But, today, Dudley's _stupid_ gang had insisted on torturing him further with their fucking presence.

Harry sat up, reaching for a dandelion. He pull off the white spores, blowing them off his palm one by one and watching them dance on the afternoon wind. He grinned wider and reached for another one. He paused and closed his eyes.

"I wish...I wish I could get away from here," Harry whispered.

He blew at the weed and when he opened his eyes, the spores were already floating high in the sky. He allowed himself a gentle smile.

"Not going to happy. Freak."

Harry froze and looked up.

Gordon stood above him and he wasn't smiling.

Harry made to stand but Gordon pushed him down with a single foot to his chest, trapping him.

"No. I prefer you like this. On your back."

 **THEM**

When the Dark Lord Voldemort thundered through the village of Little Whinging, all celebration ceased. The Muggles watched in terrified horror. The Dark Lord looked at all of the youth, trembling in his shadow. The Dark Lord's horse knickered softly and he moved forward, pulling his wand. He pointed it at the largest one-a fat blond boy with a nose so upturned it looked like a pig's snout.

"You, boy."

The fat boy whimpered, shivering in fear already. He kept his eyes trained on the ground. Voldemort's lips pulled back into a sneer.

"Where is Harry Potter?" Voldemort hissed, his voice soft.

The fat boy looked up, face twisted into confusion.

"M-my Lord...there isn't a Harry Potter here."

" _Crucio_."

The spotted boy next to the blond pig screamed, crumpling to the ground. He writhed, the vessels in his eyes popping from the agony. Muggles had no stamina, Voldemort thought with a sigh. He released the spell and the spotted boy gasped. Voldemort turned back to the pig and sneered.

The blond youth had _wet_ himself.

The spotted boy sobbed, tears running down his face, snot dripping into his mouth. He sniveled and slobbered, like a dog. _Muggles_.

"Boy, I'm looking for a boy. A beautiful boy," Voldemort added. "The most beautiful boy that you've ever seen, I'm sure. With hair of ebony and skin of snow and lips of blood. Do you know who that boy is?"

The blond froze and then began to nodding profusely, his head bobbing up and down like a doll. The spotted whimpered, shaking his head.

"D-don't...d-d-don't tell him," the spotted boy rasped, voice raw from his screams.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. He tilted his head and smiled softly. " _Avada Kedavra_."

The youths all screamed, clinging to each other, cowering. They sobbed and carried on, staring at the dead boy. The pig burst into sobs and nodded over and over again, falling to his knees, clutching at the dead body. One of the boys that had been near them crawled away. He had _also_ soiled his pants. Voldemort smiled wider.

"His name is Harry Evans! N-Not Harry Potter!" the blond pig sobbed. He held the spotted boy's corpse tighter, whispering a name over and over again.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"If you don't want to end up like your friend, you only need to tell me where he is," Voldemort said, not unkindly. "Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers."

"H-he ran into the Forest! The Forest, my Lord!" the pig shrieked.

Voldemort closed his eyes and reached. The pig didn't lie. The smoky scent was there. _Powerful_. Wild and untamed in a way that even Lily's wasn't, with her wildfire. Voldemort opened his eyes again and nodded.

"You are rewarded with your life," Voldemort decided and he felt his blood pumping as he grabbed the reins and tugged, sharply.

His horse galloped into the Forbidden Forest. Voldemort could taste the magic. He veered off the path, into the thicket of surrounding trees, coming from around the bend. He could taste the blood. Youth. Eternal life. All his. He wanted it. He wanted the _boy_. Such a beautiful boy.

Voldemort stopped suddenly as he saw light. A clearing.

The most likely place.

Quietly, he hushed his horse and dismounted as quietly as he could. Voldemort nearly winced when he landed with a soft thud, muffled by foliage. Slowly, Voldemort moved forward, called to the fire that burned wilder and wilder. Voldemort swallowed. He very nearly felt the _heat_ of the magic, as if it was something palpable, something to be touched.

Voldemort stopped at the edge of the clearing.

The Fairest was on his back, straddled by a large brute. Meaty fingers ran up and down the Fairest's side, rucking up his shirt as the Fairest writhed, attempting to buck his assailant off of him. Voldemort moved forward, intrigued by the scene.

"Get off me! Get off me, fucker!" the Fairest snarled. A nice voice. Throaty tenor, light. Probably pleasant in passion just as it was pleasant in fury.

Voldemort's groin tightened and he swallowed his lust, exchanging it for the lust of blood.

The lumbering man atop the boy traced the Fairest's plump red lips with the tip of his thumb. The boy's lips parted underneath his touch and the man grinned. Emerald eyes glowed with fury and the man smirked, grinding down into the boy's hips, almost driving the smaller young man deeper into the ground.

"Dirty words from a dirty mouth. Merlin, can't wait to slide into your tight little arse," the man hissed.

He pushed his thumb into the boy's mouth and Voldemort stiffened, overwhelmed with a fury that burned through his veins, that made his head hazy.

Suddenly, the man screamed. Voldemort's eyes widened as the man's hand poured blood and the boy turned his head to the side, spitting out the bloody appendage. Voldemort grinned. The boy had bitten off his assailant's _thumb_. The boy bucked once, twice, and the man fell off of him. The man twisted, screaming in agony, his hand clutched tight to his chest.

The boy flew forward, lunging and sinking his fist into the man's cheek. The man's head swung, a tooth flying out, pieces of bloody gum stuck to it. The man roared and the Fairest stalked forward, his hands closing around the man's thick neck. His beautiful face was contorted with rage and his hair seemed to blow with an imaginary breeze.

The heat became overwhelming and Voldemort saw the sparks in the air, the clicking of a fire attempting to start. Voldemort took a step closer.

"I should kill you, you sick piece of shit. I should kill you…" the Fairest hissed and the man flailed, reaching for the Fairest's wrists. " _No._ "

Voldemort froze as flames erupted into being, whipping a furious firestorm around Harry. The Muggle boy whimpered, tears running down his face and evaporating immediately from the heat. His skin began to blister and peel and the Fairest stood there, powerful and untouched, untamed power coursing through him. So much _power_. The Dark Lord moaned as his cock twitched again in arousal.

Voldemort lifted his wand and waved it in a complicated wiggle. The Muggle boy's eyes fluttered and suddenly he slumped, letting out a quiet snore as his hair burned away, lifting him bald. The Fairest paused and released him, gasping. Voldemort stared at the two burn marks around the Muggle's neck, in the shape of those perfect hands.

"I...I…" the Fairest stammered, his lips parted and he looked around.

He stopped when crimson connected with green.

Voldemort stepped out of the shadows and the Fairest took a step back, terrified.

"Hello," Voldemort murmured, voice rough with arousal. The Fairest shivered, violently.

"Hello."

Lord Voldemort revelled in the young man's voice. So innocent and so rough and so _gorgeous_. He burned with need; the Dark Lord had not needed this badly in so _long_. He had not _wanted_ and oh, how he wanted in that moment.

This boy was beautiful.

Lord Voldemort knew beauty. Appreciated beauty. _Revered_ beauty. Lily had been beautiful but, never more so than him. But this... _being_ before him was the most beautiful creature Lord Voldemort had seen in his very long life.

"Do you know me?" Voldemort whispered. The boy nodded, licking his lips nervously. Voldemort closed his eyes, gathering his wits, attempting to control himself.

The Dark Lord was many things but, he did not count rapist amongst them.

"You are the Dark Lord Voldemort," the Fairest whispered. He looked down at the unconscious body of the young man. "What did you do to him?"

There was resentment in his voice and worry. _Worry_ for the man that had tried to rape him.

"I saved him. From you."

The Fairest stiffened. "W-what? I didn't...I didn't do this!"

"But, you did. You burned him. Branded him with your hands. I simply put him to sleep and once you recognized he was no longer a threat, you let him go," Voldemort said, so gentle and soft.

The Fairest trembled, wrapping his arms around his middle.

"I didn't...I didn't do _this_ ," Harry protested. He stumbled backwards, trembling. "I can't...I didn't…"

He took another step back, turning on his heel, preparing to run. Voldemort held up his wand and the Fairest froze.

"Don't think of running, Harry Potter."

The Fairest froze.

"That's...that's not my name," Harry whispered and Voldemort's smile widened.

"What's your name, sweetling? Voldemort asked.

Harry shivered again as Voldemort stalked closer. He didn't flinch away this time, staring up at the Dark Lord with wide, curious green eyes.

"Harry Evans," the boy breathed.

Voldemort lifted a hand, fingers hovering over Harry's cheek. Harry tilted his head, his lashes fluttering, lips parting as he breathed deeply.

"Is that what they told you?" Voldemort whispered. "They lied. Your name is Harry Potter. You see, Harry Potter, I knew your parents."

"W-what? _You_ knew my parents?" Harry whispered.

Voldemort nodded. "Yes."

"What happened to them?"

Voldemort ran the tip of his wand down Harry's jawline. "I killed them."

 **ALL**

Sir Severus Snape of House Prince was an observant man.

He had always been an observant man and even at forty-two, his senses were sharper than most. There was a reason he was the Dark Lord's favourite. He proved his usefulness long ago, both as a swordsman and as a man that knew things he wasn't supposed to know. As Lord of Whispers, Severus prided himself in knowing nearly everything. His powers of observation had served his Lord well in the many years that Severus had been in his service.

Severus had once observed so much that he had once fallen in love with the object of his observations.

Princess Lily Gryffindor had been so much more than just that.

A friend. A companion. A partner.

Even now, he could still remember her bright green eyes, like emeralds, filled with affection. Once those eyes had been his to have, to hold. But, no, her affection slowly shifted. James of House Potter, the man that had made Severus' life a living hell, never letting him forget who- _what_ -he was.

After all, Severus was a bastard of House Prince, born to Eileen Prince, the disgraced heir of House Prince and the Muggle piece of shit that had beaten her to death.

Severus never had a chance with someone as gracious, as beautiful, as _good_ as Lily Gryffindor and, James and his snivelling pack, that called themselves the Marauders, had never hesitated to remind him of that fact.

So, the Dark Lord had been good to him, seeing his talent, taken him underneath his wing. For a long time, Severus loathed the Dark Lord's handsome shadow-Severus with his long hooked nose, his sallow skin, fingertips stained forever yellow by potions ingredients.

But, he knew better now. Severus was older and wiser and he knew his skills. He made sure that his Lord's reign did not end. He protected the realm and his Lord above all. He protected the Lord's mouthpiece.

That was what Bellatrix was. The Dark Lord's puppet, his pretty little marionette dancing on her strings. The Dark Lord desired power but, he was too cunning to sit on the throne as the king-emperor of the Albion Empire. No one questioned his decisions. Those that questioned the Dark Lord usually ended up death by his sword or by Severus'.

The Dark Lord was not picky.

Severus was a frank man. He watched Bellatrix's sanity deteriorate. Her violet eyes frantically searched for her brother in vain. She was caught in the gaudy decadence of the ball, losing herself, losing her mind. She needed her brother to rescue her from it all because she didn't know how to do anything herself. Queen Bellatrix was not a diplomat; she had no way with words. She was disliked by court for her cruelty and disdain whenever her brother was not in control of her.

Severus wondered if he should be impressed or disgusted by his Lord for his methods of ruling.

Perhaps both.

Rebellion was stirring. Severus could see it in some of the courts' eyes. The House Prewett, blood traitors though they were, was now extinct. They all wondered if they were next-House Goyle, House Crabbe, House Greengrass, House Smith, House McLaggen, House Edgecombe. Houses upon Houses, wondering if they would be the next to be stricken from reality. And the Muggles talked-spoke of a group that would free them from chains of bondage.

They were gaining _hope_. Hope was a dangerous thing.

Hope was stronger than fear and the survival of an heir, an heir of Gryffindor, fed that hope.

Bellatrix had much to fear from her people and yet, she looked as if she felt no fear at all.

Fool.

Severus turned his gaze to Lucius, Draco and his Mudblood, and Princess Narcissa. Narcissa sense his gaze, turning icy blue eyes onto him. She stared into his bottomless black eyes-the abyss-and he stared back. Narcissa gave a tight, stony smile and turned to the Warden Andromeda, speaking to her in hushed tones. Yet, her gaze locked on Bellatrix, madness on a throne. Severus' eyes widened when Narcissa's gaze turned into one of loathing, a black spiteful hatred that threatened to crack that mask of hers.

Bellatrix had much to fear _indeed_.

:::

 **A/N:** I did it again! Also, I promised this chapter would make up for the shortness of the last. It was just a transition chapter. Now, the main action of the story begins.

I changed a lot of Harry's first appearance and Voldemort's appearance in Little Whinging. I'm no longer going to invent OCs just to kill them. I'm gonna just buckle down and kill beloved characters, just like GRR Martin and JK Rowling. Sorry not sorry. So, if I kill someone, they're probably a canon character. There will be few instances of me creating OCs just to kill them.

Also, Andromeda has returned. That's a totally different plot point from the first story. She never really left in the first one and this time she left for 16 years to do her duty in the West. And Narcissa is a little...off. Draco is still a brat though. He's still the worst. But, Harry also sorta knows how to use a sword and distances are going to take a little longer to get across so stuff will be a little more spaced out. I guess. Well.

I already outlined the next two chapters so I really just have to write them. So, look out for those in 2-3 days, maybe sooner since it's the weekend.


	8. Chapter Six

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : Wow, so interesting that it's far easier to write every other character but, Voldemort and Harry. I've added more complex motivations for all the characters so, sorry if it's a little hard to keep track of all of that in your head.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Six

"I killed them."

He said it so matter of factly. As if it were something that he did every day. Harry supposed that he did. The Dark Lord Voldemort was an executioner. A _murderer_. Harry swallowed, his mind running a thousand leagues a minutes. Should he run? Scream? Attack? Harry bit his lower lip and took another step back as the Dark Lord stepped forward.

"Why?" Harry whispered and hated him when his voice broke.

"Because they threatened everything I held dear."

The raw honesty was unsettling. Harry frowned at Voldemort in confusion. He couldn't understand how the man was so nonchalant about confessing to the murder of Harry's parents but, so vulnerable when talking about _why_. It was incomprehensible. Harry ground his teeth together, steadying himself.

"Everything you hold dear? The empire? My parents were normal people," Harry said.

Voldemort sighed, shaking his head. "Dear sweetling, you didn't even know your name. What do you know about how 'normal' your parents were?" Voldemort asked. When Harry didn't answer, he took another step forward. Harry didn't flinch this time. "Your name is Harry Potter. You have many names. Harry Potter. Prince of House Gryffindor. The _Fairest_."

"I...I am not a Prince. I'm Harry Evans," Harry pleaded. "I'm not _anything_."

Voldemort looked at him, his eyes strangely cold. "You are _everything_."

"Why did you kill my parents?" Harry repeated, his voice cracking with emotion. Voldemort took another step forward and Harry gasped when he felt his back pressed up against a tree trunk. Voldemort settled a hand next to Harry's head, boxing him in.

"Does it matter?" Voldemort drawled.

Harry's grief broke away, replaced nearly instantly with fury. Voldemort raised an eyebrow as the boy's magic whipped around them, burning and smoky, threatening to choke Voldemort.

"Of course it matters," Harry snarled.

His eyes glowed in his rage. Merlin, he was beautiful.

"You truly have no idea, Fairest," Voldemort murmured. This was so beautiful with his vibrant green eyes and his wild nature, untamable and unbreakable.

He knew if allowed this boy to live, he would become a worthy opponent. Where Lily had failed to ever wield the Sword of Gryffindor, this boy would do so proudly. But, only if he were allowed to live and Voldemort had no intentions of allowing that to happen.

"Fairest?" Harry asked.

Voldemort brushed a gloved finger down Harry's soft, porcelain cheek and Harry shivered from the touch. He looked cross with himself for a moment but, Voldemort's lips tilted into his a smirk of amusement.

"You heard them. They called you Fairest-Of-Them-All. They weren't wrong," Voldemort said.

"They called... _me_?" Harry whispered.

Voldemort let out a high cold laugh that descended into a warm, intimate chuckle. Harry froze and he let out a whimper, writhing against the tree trunk, caught between getting away and getting closer. So, it wasn't only Voldemort that was caught.

"You are Harry of House Gryffindor, son of Lily of House Gryffindor and James of House Potter. They call you many things, sweetling. Things that you must die for," Voldemort whispered against the shell of Harry's ear.

He couldn't help himself. He ran his tongue down the cartilage, sucking gently on Harry's earlobe. Harry let out a tiny gasp and a soft mewl that made Voldemort want to bend over the sweet boy and fuck the innocence out of him.

Harry blinked, attempting to clear his head as things started to make sense and less sense. His fire, the constant burning, was _magic_ and his 'aunt' was increasingly protective despite the fact that she didn't want him around, really. He had been putting her family in danger.

"Prince of Gryffindor...the Fairest-of-Them-All. The most beautiful person in the world. Do you know what your heart does to me?" the Dark Lord whispered, his hands sliding down to cup Harry's neck, over his shoulders, brushing against the threadbare fabric. Harry felt the head of the man's broad hands and whimpered. The Dark Lord pulled him tight against him and grounded their erections as he hissed, "I will devour your heart, sweetling. I will eat it from your ribcage and be young and beautiful _forever_."

Harry gasped as Voldemort pressed their lips together. The Dark Lord was a good kisser but, he wasn't generous. No, this man _took._ He plundered Harry's mouth, tasting every crevice, running his tongue over the cap of each tooth. He kissed with his whole being, possessing Harry. Harry moaned into the Dark Lord's mouth, his hands tightening on the man's broad shoulders.

This man was beautiful and...and…

"You're a fucking _psycho_ ," Harry mumbled against the Dark Lord's lips and brought his knee up, his hand pressed against the taller man's waist.

The Dark Lord roared in pain as Harry's knee connected with his cock and Harry shoved him back, stumbling away. The Dark Lord pulled his wand, suddenly and Harry lifted the knife in his hand. Voldemort stopped, keeping his eyes trained on _the_ ceremonial knife. The knife he had used to harvest Helena and Lily's hearts.

"You stay away from me. You're not taking _my_ heart," Harry snarled.

Voldemort growled, pulling his claymore. "Are you sure, sweetling?"

Harry stopped and moved forward, pressing his hand to Voldemort's chest. Voldemort frowned, suddenly caught off-guard. Harry swallowed his pride and simpered, looking up at the Dark Lord.

"What are you attempting to distract me with, pretty?" Voldemort drawled.

"I've never lain with a man. Will you let me die a virgin?" Harry murmured.

Voldemort's eyes burned. "Oh, sweetling. You'll have to do better than that."

Harry dropped his pout, twisting it into a snarl. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. I have no intention of dying today."

And with a mighty snarl, Harry slashed the stolen knife, nicking the Dark Lord in his jaw and shoulder. Voldemort roared in pain and Harry spun on his heel, taking off into the forest.

Voldemort roared, waving his wand, healing his wounds.

The pretty ones always like to play _hard to get_.

 **MIRROR**

Narcissa liked to brush her own hair.

Her entire life, she had been surrounded by maids and house elves. But, they had never touched her long flaxen hair. Before Narcissa did her own hair, her mother did it, and sometimes, Narcissa could pretend that the fingers weaving braids into her hair were her mother's hands and not her own.

Narcissa's mother had always called her, her 'little doll'. Narcissa had owned a doll that looked just like her, an old doll that she kept safely locked in a chest underneath her bed, far from unforgiving eyes. That little doll had been part of a set. The other doll. The other doll had been buried with its namesake. That sweet doll with dark hair and eyes painted pale. _Helena_.

"I think he loved you," Narcissa whispered. She hesitated, searching the room. There was no one. She prepared for Mortem Phoenix alone. Every year. "As much as he could love anyone that wasn't himself. Or rather, he was fond of you. Fonder of you than he ever was of me. Is that how beauty works, Helena? You are worthy because you are beautiful?"

Narcissa never expected an answer and she never received one. For all that Helena couldn't do because of her natural limitations, she had never been afraid. Narcissa shivered. That doll. Helena had given her that doll after their mothers had conjured a pair for them. Helena was older and doted on Narcissa. Narcissa had slept with that doll for a week after Helena died before giving it to Rowena to be buried in the crypts.

"I am worthy, Helena," Narcissa breathed, weaving her hair. "I am no longer porcelain. My dear friend: I shall not be ignored or lost. Not in favor of a mad woman. I am not a fool. I have done all that he asked of me and more. He will remember that I did _everything_ for him and this family."

Everything would come together. The Crown Prince had a bride-to-be. An heir would be solidified. Her son was healthy. Virile. The Granger girl was not the obvious choice—a Mudblood and skeletal—but, she was submissive to her son's commands. Narcissa could take her under her wing. Guide her. _Advise_ her. The House Zabini was a generous ally. War was brewing. Lady Zabini still held the loyalty of her dead husbands and their money pouches.

Narcissa's soft expression hardened into stone. _Helena_.

"Why do we pretend, Helena? You didn't ever have to pretend. We were porcelain and ivory. Sweetness. If you had lived...nevermind," Narcissa breathed. She shook herself, standing up, cold as ice. "I cannot be sweet and soft and breakable like we were. I must be more. Untouchable. Unreachable. Like them. Hard onyx and unbendable steel, the pair of them. Always a pair, Bella and _Tom_. But, Helena, my friend?"

Narcissa stared at her reflection. She closed her eyes. Sometimes, when she tried to remember Helena, she only found a hazy figure that drifted farther away the more she tried to remember. But, she could always remember Helena's laugh.

Narcissa's eyes opened.

"Do you know what can cut onyx, Helena?" Narcissa breathed. She smiled. "A diamond."

 **MIRROR**

Harry _ran._ The crunching of branches and leaves under his feet sounded like earthquakes and his labored breathing like thunder. He could feel Voldemort catching up to him, his wand pointed. Harry didn't dare look back. If he looked back, he'd falter and Harry wasn't in the business of dying.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ "

Harry screamed, spinning behind a tree. The bolt of green light shot pass him. Harry took off again, raging feuling him. That psycho had shot the _Killing Curse_ at him.

"You need better aim, you wanker!" Harry taunted. He doubled his speed when bolts of neon green and violent purple magic shot over his head.

The boy weaved between the thick black trunks, skidding under low hanging branches. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and the fire burned hotter than he'd ever felt in his life. The Prince looked over his shoulder for just a moment and though that Forbidden Forest grew darker with every passing minute, he could still see those crimson eyes. Harry spun back around, another swelling of fear and ran harder. He bit his lip bloody in determination.

"Merlin...help me," Harry hissed through the burning in his chest.

The Dark Lord was catching up to him. He could hear the pounding of his feet growing louder and louder. Harry swallowed his fear. He was no _coward_.

Harry ran and suddenly spun around, his nostrils flared.

Voldemort skidded to a stop, shocked. Harry held out his hand as if warding Voldemort away. Voldemort's knife stayed clenched tight in Harry's other hand.

"You stay _away_ from me," Harry warned.

Voldemort's lips curled into a tiny smile. Softly, he said, "Harry, your magic is powerful but, I have had _years_ honing my craft. I came with a purpose and I intend to fulfill it."

Harry looked around, a skittish deer. Harry swallowed hard. "I...I…" he stammered. Voldemort smiled as his power began to writhe around him, out of control.

The Dark Lord raised his wand. And then, Harry was stricken by a memory—a book that he had once read about witches and wizards.

" _INCENDIO!_ "

Voldemort threw himself back as fire exploded around Harry's body, swirling around him like a funnel, shooting into the sky. He whipped his wand around him, creating a Shield and he watched as the flames raged, destroying everything in its path, and in the middle of it all, Harry kneeled on the ground, watching the flames ravage the Forest in horror.

Voldemort moved forward, battling the flames.

A beautiful song, devastating and mournful, exploded in the air. Voldemort took a step back, faltering, and he felt his wand vibrate in his hand, the phoenix feather core singing its own song of power. Harry froze as the flames stilled. The lament of a phoenix was a great and terrible thing, Harry thought, and he wondered how he knew that.

He stiffened when he felt a heavy weight land on his shoulder and he turned and looked.

The majestic bird was large and the color of fire. It was the size of a swan and its plumage told stories in vibrant shades of scarlet and gold. Its tale trailed far behind Harry, long and powerful. It rubbed its long neck along the side of Harry's face and the bird was scorching and yet, Harry did not burn.

"Who are you?" Harry whispered.

Voldemort _trembled_. "Fawkes."

The phoenix trilled and Harry took it for affirmation. Fawkes had come to _him_. Lily Gryffindor's _phoenix_ had come to _him_.

"I will find you," Voldemort promised and before Harry could ask, fire erupted around Harry and enveloped him whole.

Harry whined, the sound of Voldemort's scream following him into the flames. When he emerged on the other side, he collapsed into overgrown grass, gasping for air. He fell onto his back, wheezing.

"Fawkes?" Harry called, looking up at the bright blue sky. He didn't hear the trill of the phoenix.

Harry sat up and his heart stopped.

He looked around in fright and his breath left him. Slowly, he got up to his feet and stared.

It looked like his clearing but, it was occupied by an enormous tower, tall and crumbling and familiar. Harry inhaled and he could taste the comforting incense and smoke on his tongue. He took a step forward to the grand marble structure at the foot of the tower. He raised his hand to push open the marble doors and he flinched when they creaked open before he could touch the cool stone.

There was something about this place that was so familiar. He looked at the window at the tower once before he continued into the marble structure, descending a long set of stairs. Harry shivered. It grew both colder and warmer the more he descended and when he finally reached the bottom of the staircase, he wished for fire.

The darkness was impenetrable and terrifying, more than the Dark Lord even.

Harry stumbled in the dark and his hand brushed against something wet. He rubbed his fingers together.

 _Oil_.

Suddenly, the flames exploded and he watched as two long troughs of oil caught fire. Harry watched the fire along the walls, leading the wall. Harry chased the flames, his heart beating faster and faster. He could feel his pulse in his stomach.

And he gasped.

The statue was marble. She stood against the wall, her hands cupped in offering, covered in ashes. Harry reached forward, fingers trembling and the phoenix on the statue's shoulder cooed, nodding at him, as if it _knew_.

Harry stared at her—the kind curve of her jaw, the firm set of her lips. She was dressed simply, in long robes that was definitely not something the ladies of the current court would wear. He could imagine them in color instead of a pale grey—bright gold and red. He could imagine that the long hair that curled around her barefeet was bright, like the flames that had exploded around him.

He didn't have to imagine her eyes.

They were green. Green emeralds for her eyes. Green like _his_.

This was not just a tower. Not just a building. This was a mausoleum. And this woman.

This woman…

" _Mum_ …"

 **ON THE WALL**

Ron knew as soon as the ink burned.

Madame McGonagall stiffened, a sharp inhale as her tattoo burned but, it was her only tell. The others hissed and whined in discomfort. McGonagall had been right—as always. The crypt had been breached. He looked over at the woman.

"Go," she drawled.

Ron nodded once and stood, holding out his arm. Ginny reached for it, grabbing it and with the other hand snatching up her bow and wand. Swiftly, they Disapparated ignoring the deafening crack. Ron no longer felt discomfort when he Disapparated. The first few times, he'd turned purple and vomited but, running as he had been running for nearly his whole life made him get over his aversion.

They landed. Ginny stumbled and righted herself, tossing her bow over her shoulder.

"The doors are open," she said.

"I noticed," Ron retorted with a smirk. Ginny gave him a rude hand gesture that only made him grin wider. As always, his sister looked grim.

Ginny led the way, her thick red braid bouncing against her back. She was in her battle leathers. The brand new ones that she had wanted to wear on the raid at one of the Queen's outposts in Balmorra, just North of Hogsmeade. That was before they knew Fabian and Gideon were the ones that were going to be executed. Ron had cried angry tears while he watched, clutching on to Fred and George.

Ginny didn't cry anymore. Not after the things that she had witnessed. The things that had been _done_ to her.

"Who d'you think is in there?" Ron asked.

Ginny stared straight ahead. "Someone with connections to the Order, I expect. We're the only ones that can get in. Us and Fawkes."

"Maybe Fawkes is back," Ron said in excitement. He'd seen the phoenix once, when he was twelve and his sister was eleven. He could still remember the vivid bird, bright crimson and gold. They descended into the darkness and Ron lifted his wand. " _Lumos_."

Ginny followed suit and she swallowed. "There's light," she whispered.

Ron's eyes narrowed and he saw it. The light. He walked faster, Ginny on his heels and he came to a sudden stop, rocking back.

Ron stared.

The oil was lit, the entire crypt bright with fire. He looked over at Ginny but, she was staring straight ahead. And Ron saw him.

He was kneeling before the statue of Lily, running his fingers through the ash offering that Ron knew was Fawkes' leftovers from his rebirths. Fawkes rested on the statue's shoulder, cooing down at the boy. The boy had beautiful black curls that hung to the nape of his neck and he was lithe, thin with wiry muscles. His knuckles were bloodied and a strange ceremonial knife sat on the edge of the altar.

"You...turn around," Ginny whispered.

The boy jumped up. Slowly, he turned, defiance in those bright eyes. Fawkes hopped off the statue's shoulder and onto the boy's. He trilled and the boy lifted his hand. Ron stared as flames danced between the boy's fingers.

"Harry Wildfyre," Ron breathed.

The boy with eyes bright as emeralds, hair black as ebony, lips red as blood, and skin white as snow, stood taking a step back. He swallowed hard and stiffened, running his hand through his hair and Ron saw the lightning bolt upon his forehead.

"I'm...I'm Harry," he said. "Who are you?"

"My name's Ron. This is my sister. Ginny," Ron stammered, looking as if he had been hit upside the head with a club. Ginny rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the side. Ron shook himself.

"Harry...I'm Harry Potter. That's what...that's what he told me," Harry whispered.

Ginny took a step forward. "Who told you?" she demanded.

"The Dark Lord. Voldemort," Harry said and Ron inhaled sharply at the name, stricken by the sound of it. He leaned forward, frowning. "What did you call me?"

"Your name is Hadrian," Ginny declared, taking a step forward. Fawkes cooed from his perch on the stone shoulder of Lily Gryffindor. "Of House Gryffindor and Potter, Prince of Gryffindor, the rightful King-Emperor of Albion."

Harry looked over his shoulder, his gaze softening as he looked at the statue.

"This is my mother," he whispered, a wild sense of glee to his face. He looked back at Ron and Ginny and swallowed. "I was being chased. By the Dark Lord. The phoenix brought me here."

Ron shook himself and nodded. He held out his hand.

"Prince Harry, I think it'd be best if you came with us."

 **WHOM**

In the night, Bellatrix had very sharp eyesight. She had taken after her father, in that aspect. It was the _only_ thing that she had inherited from her father. Voldemort had the tongue of snakes, that was true, but Bellatrix liked having one thing that she could share with her exiled father, no matter how much she hated the man. Bellatrix hated her father so much that she burned with it and thirsted for his blood.

The Queen waited on her balcony, watching the gates. The castle and grounds were full to the brim with her visiting court and with her sister's uninvited household. Bellatrix could see them in their tents, dancing and laughing around bonfires, celebrating outside like heathens instead of with the rest of the nobility or servants. She did not care that dawn would come; she would not sleep until she had Harry Potter's bloody heart in her palm and between her teeth.

Bellatrix would give that boy the chance to pry her deserved crown from her head. She would clutch her throne until her skin peeled away and there was only bones and dust.

And that would _never_ happen. She would be immortal and beautiful and _whole_ for all eternity.

Draco wanted her throne. He happily shrieked and shouted that he was 'Crown Prince. One day, I'll be Emperor'. It made her smile. Her sister's sweet little boy, the Crown Prince, was her little court fool. The Queen laughed, her cackles echoing on the wind. The Warden's household looked up, searching for the laughter and Bellatrix hushed herself, giggling under her breath.

She felt him before she saw him.

"Was it done?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort walked to her side, staring out at the Warden's household of heathens, dancing and coupling by the fire. She kept her territories in strong hand but not her own people.

"He was beautiful. Far more beautiful than Lily or Helena. The mirror did him no justice, I tell you that."

Bellatrix stared at her brother, jealousy surging through her body. Her head went hazy with jealousy and she felt her stomach lurch. Bellatrix crossed her arms underneath her full breasts and smiled, masking her irritation. There were always cracks in the mask though. He always _knew_. Somehow, they always knew.

"Did you fuck him before you killed him?" Bellatrix asked crudely.

Voldemort looked at her, crimson eyes burning. He took a step towards her before thinking better of it. It had been a long time since Voldemort had had to still himself from being violent towards her. Longer since Voldemort had _wanted_ to be violent towards her. Bellatrix leaned forward, her cheeks flushed.

"I did not."

"We did not think you would. You wouldn't do that to us. You know—" Bellatrix said, smiling proudly.

Voldemort hummed and turned away; closing his eyes and thinking back to something that Bellatrix could not see. Bellatrix sighed and thought of the great gift her brother had given her. She would bite through sinew and feel it catch between her teeth, giving her power. She would no longer feel compelled to drink the blood and eat the hearts of insignificant serving girls.

Bellatrix would be powerful and beautiful and _loved_.

"No. Bellatrix. I did not kill him."

Voldemort had been called Kingmaker once. He had made her instead. When they had turned fifteen, Bellatrix had been given a name too—Chaos-Bringer, and her mind was lawless and tumultuous. She gnashed her teeth, and her magic roared within her, beyond her control. She didn't notice when she drew her wand and pointed it at him.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?"

Her shrieks were deafening but Voldemort didn't flinch. He stared at her with unyielding eyes. Bellatrix lunged, her hands curled into claws. She tore her nails across his face and blood welled to the surface, marring his perfect face. Voldemort raised his wand and passed it over his face. The flesh knitted together as if it had never been torn apart.

Bellatrix seethed with resentment.

"I did nothing. He escaped me."

" _How_? How could you let him go, _Tom_? He will be our downfall!"

Voldemort's eyes flashed and he lifted his wand. " _Crucio_."

Bellatrix's back arched and she shrieked out a terrible laugh as agony ripped its way up her spine, pulsing in her ears, tearing her brain apart. Voldemort watched as she crumpled to the ground and squirmed, like an insect. Her black hair fell into her face and she smiled up at him, biting her tongue bloody to silence her screams. Voldemort released the curse.

Bellatrix curled in on herself, twitching from the aftershocks.

"He will be your downfall unless you control yourself," Voldemort warned.

Bellatrix shuddered as she took in a deep, ragged breath. She giggled again, still twitching, her eyes unfocused.

"We would not worry about control if you had done what you were put to do. We commanded you to rip her heart from her chest as your Queen and you failed," Bellatrix hissed and she spat on his boot, a glob of blood and mucus on the top of the shiny leather. She stared at him, a demented smile twisting her beautiful face into something wretched.

Voldemort's nostrils flared as he swung his foot, catching Bellatrix in the face. Bellatrix fell back and laughed again, harder than before. She wiped the blood pouring from her nose and mouth on her sleeve, giggling. Slowly, her laughter tapered off and she stared at him, shocked.

"You...you hit us," Bellatrix whispered.

Voldemort took a lazy step forward and kneeled before Bellatrix, utter sincerity in his eyes. He took Bellatrix's face between two pale, spidery hands. Bellatrix flinched but there was nowhere for her to escape to. Voldemort leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, the illusion of intimacy around them. And still, Bellatrix's terror was undeniable and so was the demented torment too.

"Do not test me, sister. I made you. I made you who you are. I made you Empress. I made you Queen. I made you beautiful. And I can make you _ugly_ too."

 **IS FAIREST**

Ron couldn't stop staring and Ginny was starting to notice.

He watched as Prince Harry, the Fairest-of-them-All, walked as if he knew where he was going. He followed Fawkes, head held high as he chased the red feather plumage. Ron swallowed hard and exchanged another glance with Ginny. She looked just as enchanted. Harry was beautiful in the dying sun light of the day. Ron had even found himself jealous when Harry had asked to side-Apparate with Ginny.

"This way, your Highness," Ginny said.

Ron shivered as they passed through the wards. Fawkes let out trill and swooped low, landing heavily on Harry's shoulder, his long tail tossed over Harry's other shoulder, wrapping around him. Harry didn't shiver. He held his head high and look in the war camp, eyes narrowed in concentration.

The edges of the camp were made up to be a tent city. People—Muggles, witches, and wizards alike—milled about, doing their own duties or chattering and eating as if they didn't have a care in the world. As they walked through the tent city, small, well-built cottages began to pop up, more and more occurring as they approached the largest building, a two-story manor house. Just beside the manor house was a worn stables and a small hut.

Harry looked over his shoulder, frowning when Ginny's chocolate eyes connected with his own.

Ginny flushed and looked down, embarrassed.

Ron observed briefly, intrigued by his sister's odd behavior before he turned.

"MADAME MCGONAGALL!"

Harry flinched at Ron's obnoxious roar. Fawkes made a spitting noise but nobody else reacted at Ron's cries. Even the young children didn't look up from their suppers or games. The manor door swung open and a severe woman in tartan and glasses walked out. She was a regal woman. Dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, streaks of grey making her handsomer.

"Lower your voice, you babbling buffoon," Madame McGonagall hissed and even still, Harry could see fondness in the lines around her eyes.

Ron stepped forward and Harry cleared his throat. The Madame faltered as she stared at Harry and the phoenix that sat comfortably on his shoulder. Harry's attention was grabbed as a large, hairy man emerged from the manor despite the fact that the door was half his size.

"Minerva—" the giant man started and he gasped.

"Madame, when we arrived at the tower, we saw that the mausoleum had been breached. When we entered to secure the area, we met... _him_. He matched the description," Ginny began, so serious and Ron bounced forward, clearing his throat.

"May I introduce you to Hadrian of Houses Potter and Gryffindor, Prince of Albion, and the Fairest-of-Them-All," Ron said, bowing dramatically and he turned, winking at the golden-haired young woman that had approached.

Harry straightened. People were watching, whispering, gasping.

Harry swallowed his nervousness and took a deep breath, attempting to force the flush from his cheeks. McGonagall took a step forward.

"You have her eyes," McGonagall said, her voice so soft.

Harry frowned. _That_ wasn't what he expected. "I-I'm sorry?"

"You have her eyes, Harry Wildfyre. I was there. The night of your birth. The night that summer died and was reborn again when you cried out. You were the most beautiful babe I've ever looked upon and I was there. For the birth of your mother, Helena, most of the children of Hogwarts Castle. Except for the twins. They are before my time," McGonagall allowed and Harry took a step closer, his lips pulling into a soft smile.

"You were there?" Harry whispered. "You knew my parents?"

"Aye," McGonagall confirmed. "Hair, black as ebony wood. Skin, white as snow. Lips, red as blood. And Lily's beautiful eyes. Welcome, Prince Hadrian."

Harry thought back to that gorgeous marble statue of his mother. She looked stern and _powerful_ but, all he knew was how beautiful she was. He wanted more. This woman could tell him _more._

"I...my name's not Hadrian. I'm just... _Harry_ , please," Harry whispered.

McGonagall's lips curled into a tight smile and she nodded before dropping into a curtsey.

Ron and Ginny bowed as did the hairy man as he mopped tears from his eyes. Fawkes trilled in Harry's ear and Harry glanced over his shoulder. The people that had begun to gather bowed too. Harry flushed, bashfully and he shook his head, holding up hands.

"No! Now bowing. Please…"

McGonagall straightened. "Why not, your Highness?"

"No! None of that either. Just Harry," Harry pleaded.

McGonagall frowned, unsure of herself for the first time. She shook her head and looked towards Ron, her expression stern once more.

"Ronald, escort the prince inside. I shall summon your brothers to the table. Percy is inside. Tell him to call the table. Ginevra informed the camp of the Prince's arrival," McGonagall commanded and she looked around. Just her glance seemed to dismiss the spectators and they scattered, whispering and gossiping.

Ginny snickered at the expression on Harry's face, showing genuine emotion for the first time since they had met. The redheaded girl darted off and Harry turned back to Ron. He struggled with the right words to say before settling.

"She's rather scary, aye?" Harry choked out.

Ron grinned. "I know, right? McGonagall is so cool. Hey, your Highness—"

"Harry."

"Harry, then. Harry, this is Hagrid. He was the groundskeeper of Hogwarts Castle but now, he's working with us. He's a great friend and you'll be seeing him around the camp a lot," Ron said, gesturing vaguely at the large hairy man.

The giant of a man had a long scraggly black beard and small black eyes but, they were the kindest eyes that Harry had seen in a long while. Harry beamed.

"Hello, Hagrid," he said, gently stroking Fawkes' tail.

"'Ello, Harry. I hope ye find the camp nice 'enough. Erebody's workin' to 'elp ye win against th' Queen and You-Know-Who," Hagrid said with a big smile. He leaned forward, staring at the phoenix. "Beautiful phoenix, ye got."

"He's not mine," Harry said, hurriedly, but Hagrid was already lumbering off to do his own duties.

Ron shook his head. "You're his. He chose your mum once. Now, he chose you."

Harry bit his lip, looking around the camp. He shook his head and turned back to Ron whom was already standing in the doorway. Ron held out his hand to Harry. The green-eyed boy snorted at the hand and walked forward. He froze, worried that he had hurt Ron's feelings.

Harry's lips curled into a smile when he saw Ron's sheepish grin. The redhead rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Er...sorry. I was treating you like a girl just then, wasn't I?" Ron apologized.

"No. You were treating me like I was weak. I pulled a knife on the Dark Lord. I'm not weak," Harry said, matter-of-factly and he waved the ceremonial knife at Ron.

Ron's mouth dropped open and he stared. "W-what? You didn't say that. You haven't said _anything_ about what happened!"

Harry faltered. "Oh…"

"Wait until everyone is here. McGonagall will want to know," Ron said as he led Harry through the manor home.

It was so much nicer than the Dursleys' debilitated manor. In this manor, the walls were cream, freshly painted and panelled with wood. The floor was smooth wooden silk. Harry almost tripped when Ron made a sharp left and went up a flight of stairs. Harry backtracked and followed him into a room.

The room was large and dominated by a long, heavy darkwood table. By the far wall was a fireplace, where bright green flames danced merrily. Harry looked at it, intrigued and Fawkes trilled. Harry turned his head into Fawkes' beak and smiled. Someone cleared their throat and Harry turned back to the table.

They were all _looking_ at him.

The first to catch his eyes was a woman with bright pink, spiky hair in a thin black dress, her middle squeezed tight by a corset. He stared at her very low neckline. Her breasts were almost completely exposed. If she removed the scarf draped around her neck and down over her breasts, he was sure that he'd be able to see her nipples through the threadbare fabric. She had a red cloak tossed over the back of her chair, and she looked so at ease that Harry was jealous.

The man next to her donned a shappy, patched white shirt, a jerkin with missing buttons and shabbier, threadbare brown trousers tucked into worn boots that had seen better days. His tawny hair was streaked with gray but his amber eyes shined brightly and he was staring, slack-mouthed.

The young man sitting to the left of the head of the table was staring at him with pink cheeks. Curly red hair spilled over his ears and he nervously fiddled with the scrolls in front of him, holding his quill so tight that it snapped. He was _definitely_ related to Ron and Ginny.

More people. A man with one fake eye, whirling and spinning in his face. Four more redheads with smatterings of freckles, the oldest looking one with a long fang tattoo in his ear. More Weasleys, then. That brought Harry's count up to _seven_ Weasleys. A dark-skinned man with a heavy jaw. An older grey-haired man with electric blue eyes. A woman that looked strangely like the weird Squib from Little Whinging, Arabella Figg. A few younger people, only a few years older than Harry.

The shabby man leaned forward, eyes wide.

"Harry? Harry, is that you?" he rasped. Harry swallowed.

"That...that's me. I'm Harry. Harry Potter. The...the...Prince of Gryffindor."

And the world exploded.

 **OF THEM ALL?**

"Sister," Andromeda greeted, pressing a kiss on each of Narcissa's cheeks.

Narcissa responded with a gentile smile, she held her hands out, pulling Andromeda into her parlour.

"It's late, I know, but I missed you," Narcissa said softly. "Thank you for accepting my invitation to tea."

"It's not just late, Narcissa. It's the middle of a ball. A middle of a ball and not a single Slytherin child is there," Andromeda drawled as she clunked into Narcissa's parlour, wearing the incessant dress of chainmail. "What an utter faux pas."

"We are Slytherins," Narcissa said, as if it were an excuse.

It was.

"No matter. I missed you as well, sweet little sister," Andromeda said, sitting down primly at the tiny table prepared with sweets and tea. She waved her hand wand watched as the teapot lifted, pouring tea into the two cups. "Do you take it with milk or cream?"

"Neither," Narcissa said primly.

Andromeda grunted and waved her wand. Two lumps of sugar bounced their way into her cup and a splash of milk. Andromeda slowly turned her wand in circles, mixing the tea. She took a sip and hummed, satisfied.

"What would you like to talk about, sister?" Andromeda asked.

"How is your self-exile to the West?" Narcissa asked.

Andromeda laughed. "It is tiring. I do my duty, though."

"Right…" Narcissa drawled, pursing her lips as she drank her own tea, relishing in the bitterness on her tongue. Andromeda laughed again.

"I know what you think about me, Cissy—"

"Do not call me by that childish nickname again, _Dromeda_ ," Narcissa spat and she inhaled deeply, taking another sip of tea, smiling as easily as she did before.

"I don't mind childish nicknames," Andromeda drawled. "I miss childhood."

"What is there to miss?" Narcissa demanded.

"The lack of meaningful mistakes. Every mistake I make costs a life," Andromeda said. "That is what it means to be Warden but, you wouldn't know."

"I am Warden of the East," Narcissa spat.

"I hear your style nowadays is Duchess of the East, and you do not rule your territory. You send envoys...your _boy_ to do it for you. Training him to be king already?" Andromeda asked. She smiled wider when Narcissa winced, and Andromeda took a sip of her too-sweet tea. "Or will he go by the style emperor. Far more flashy. More his style, I think."

"Don't talk about my son. He'll make a fine emperor one day," Narcissa said stiffly.

Andromeda let out a wicked laugh and she reached for the little lemon cakes sliding it whole in her mouth. Narcissa's nose wrinkled as Andromeda chewed and laughed before she swallowed.

"Is that what you tell him when you put the brat to bed? The brat who doesn't know how to treat his toys well? Imagine what he'd do with an empire," Andromeda spat.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. Andromeda spoke of the Mudblood. The little Mudblood with the empty eyes and the ill-hidden bruises. The bruise on her face had not been so noticeable at the ball. Her maids must have put in an _extra_ effort or had given her bruise-healing potions.

"He's Crown Prince. He has learned much from his father, from his uncle, from me."

"His uncle? _Tom_?" Andromeda squawked.

"Don't call him that," Narcissa warned. She had learned the hard way.

"I'll call him whatever I like," Andromeda snarled, suddenly full of rage. She took a deep breath and drained the rest of her tea. "She won't relinquish a throne, you know. Never. And she will live far longer than we do. Our brother and her both. They have done _dark_ magics, Cissy."

"This is madness!" Narcissa hissed, voice pitched low as she looked around. Andromeda smiled. Her siblings were suspicious as ever. There was no one in the room and yet, she still searched for enemies. "She's insane. I sat upon that thrice damned throne and now, we have a mad woman upon it. We've had a mad woman for sixteen years. I have done all he has asked of me and more. I ask _one_ thing, Dromeda."'

Andromeda's lips quirked into a smile. "You asked the one thing you knew he wouldn't give. Your son is not easy to control, Narcissa."

" _I_ can control my son," Narcissa snapped.

"Exactly."

"No more, Andromeda," Narcissa whispered, her voice wintery as the North. "I told you once and I'll tell you again, Andy. I shall not be pushed into anonymity. I shall not be ignored or lost."

The older woman's look of amusement disappeared and her eyes came into focus. The grim set to her mouth hardened.

"You don't know what lost is," Andromeda said. "You don't _understand_ what that means. If you did, you would crave to lost as I was. You once told _me_ that marriage means wisdom."

"It does," Narcissa said, sagely.

Andromeda laughed. "Being fucked every night like its your husband's God-given right and squeezing a child out of your cunt doesn't give you wisdom, Narcissa Slytherin. Nor does it give you a throne."

Narcissa froze. Then, she moved faster than Andromeda had ever thought she could. Andromeda's head snapped to the side as Narcissa's hand connected with her cheek. Andromeda turned back to face her sister, a grimly smug smile on her face.

"What do you know about my marriage?" Narcissa snarled.

"You once loved him, yes. I remember. You mooned after him. Begged that Tom let you marry him. Then all you did was resent each other and try to control each other. You cause each other pain," Andromeda condemned.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "That's marriage."

Andromeda let out a shocked laugh, as if she couldn't believe her sister's words.

"If you believe that, you're a bigger fool than I thought you were," Andromeda said.

"You do not speak that way to _me_ , sister," Narcissa hissed. "My name is Narcissa of House Malfoy. I have married a man of noble blood and I have provided this empire with an heir. I have killed for the prosperity of House Slytherin. I have _bled_ for us. What have you done?"

Andromeda moved towards her sister, pulling her forward and holding her tight against her body. Narcissa's head was tucked against her neck. Narcissa could feel the rhythm of Andromeda's pulse and Andromeda kissed Narcissa's hairline, right above her head.

"You are a Slytherin, Narcissa. You will always be one. Come to accept the fact that you are greatness personified, but never great enough for him."

:::

 **A/N:** I added more interesting scenes between Narcissa and Andromeda. I like their dynamic. Also, the relationships are going to be much darker and complex-romantic and otherwise. So, get ready.


	9. Chapter Seven

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : Whoa this is super long but, there was so much that I just needed to get in, in this chapter. Sorry, not sorry.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Seven

It was chaos. Everyone was shouting questions at him and Harry curled into himself, hiding his face in Fawkes' scarlet feathers. The woman with the pink hair leaned forward, her breasts nearly spilling out of her dress. She looked vaguely curious. The shabby-looking man looked like had just been struck over the head. Harry swallowed hard, wincing under the shouts.

"Ron! Are you sure that's him?" a redheaded man with curl hair shouted over the din. He pushed his glasses up his nose, marking his face with ink.

"Of course, it's him, _Percy_ ," Ron started, snarling and aching for a fight already.

The shabby man looked at Percy, his eyes bright amber. "Of course he is. Look at him. He fits the description and...he has his father's hair. His mother's eyes," the man snapped.

Harry whimpered and took a step forward, eyes wide. "You knew my mother?" Harry demanded.

His voice sounded musical in the midst of uncouth shouts and shrieks. The room fell silent at the sound of his voice and the man looked at him, wary. Slowly, the man nodded and smiled.

"I knew your father better. My name is Remus Lupin. I was one of your father's best friends. I was part of her guard," the man said, his voice so soft. Harry couldn't picture the man holding a sword, laying down his life for another person. He seemed so fragile.

"Who are you all? What is this place?" Harry asked.

"This is the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry looked at the head of the table, staring at Madame McGonagall. She looked back at him, eyes hard. Someone cleared their throat behind Harry. Harry stepped back and allowed Ginny to walk around him and she settled into her own chair, sans her bow now.

"The Order of the Phoenix?" Harry asked. He knew the Order. Everyone knew the 'secret' insurgency group that worked to dismantle the Slytherins' reign. "As in...Fabian and Gideon Prewett."

"My uncles were Madame McGonagall's lieutenants," said the redheaded man with the fang in his ear. "They were good men."

"Great men. Great men that will be avenged," Ginny added, coldly. McGonagall nodded.

Harry swallowed as he looked around the table. These stares were different from the lustful leers he was usually awarded. These eyes were wide with wonder, adoration, and too-high expectations. Expectations that Harry could never possibly reach.

"We work towards freeing Albion from the Slytherins. Bellatrix is a horrible queen, who stole her throne but, does nothing to help her people. The Dark Lord slaughters all that stand against her. Narcissa taxes the people unfairly as Lady of the Coin. Andromeda stands aside and watches it happen," the woman with pink hair said, so matter of fact and sharp. Harry stared at her in wonder and he leaned forward.

"What is your name?" he murmured, softly.

This woman was rather familiar. Her vibrant pink hair was otherworldly but, the set of her jaw, the fullness of her lips. And then, it went hazy again. The woman smiled at him.

"Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks," she said, her voice full of self-pity as she spoke her first name. Harry's lips twitched.

"You are right. The Slytherins must go. But, what does that have to do with me or my mother?" Harry questioned.

The man with the spinning blue eye ball frowned and gruffly said, "You're the only one who can do it, lad."

"How so?" Harry challenged, voice sharp. Fawkes made a warning hiss at the Order members. Harry immediately cooed at him and Fawkes gentled, tucking closer into him.

"Fawkes knows it too. There is a prophecy that speaks of the Slytherins' downfall. It talks about you," the redheaded curly-haired boy said. Harry swallowed and nodded. The curly-haired boy blushed. "I'm...I'm Percy, by the way. Percy Weasley."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Percy Weasley," Harry said, gently. Percy flushed even more. Harry looked around the table. "Have you heard the prophecy?"

"Through memories that we procured from the seer that spoke it," McGonagall confirmed.

Harry nodded and he paused. "He...he wants my heart."

"Who?" McGonagall barked.

"The Dark Lord. He told me. He told me he would eat my heart and it would give him immortality," Harry said, and he sounded far away. He clutched the knife in his hand even tighter. "He wanted to kill me. So...I tricked him. I stole his knife and then...I ran."

"You tricked him?" a redhead twin asked in awe.

"That's what he said, Fred," Ginny snapped. Harry snapped back to reality and he looked around the table.

He wanted to hide from their awe.

Harry pressed the knife to the table, looking at the ceremonial curved blade. There were engravings along the flat of the table. The handle was wrapped in leather and something else was carved into the leather. Squiggles that Harry couldn't make out.

"I can't believe you stole the ceremonial knife. Taking your heart...making the whole thing work...it all hinges on that knife," the stockier redheaded brother said.

"And your name?" Harry asked.

"Charlie Weasley. Second older of the Weasley clan."

The brother with the longer red hair and the earring leaned forward, grinning lazily. He propped his chin upon his laced hands and Harry's lips twitched in amusement at the man's confident attitude.

"And the name's Bill Weasley. The oldest," he drawled.

Harry snorted.

Ginny sneered. "Yes, yes. A bunch of peacocks, the whole lot. The Prince doesn't want you. He's too pretty for any of you."

McGonagall looked back at Harry. "How did you get away?" she asked.

"With fire," Harry said and he lifted his hand. He watched as the flames danced around his fingers and the man with the strange eye gasped, staring. Everyone was watching in awe.

"How? Can you do any other magic?" the dark-skinned man asked.

"N-no," Harry stuttered. "What is that you all... _want_ from me?"

McGonagall didn't hesitate. "We want you to take back your kingdom. You are the rightful Prince of Albion. The throne is yours."

Harry laughed, bitterly.

"Imagine that...a _prince_. I...don't have much of a choice, do I? I can't exactly walk away. He'd kill me and you...I have to do this. I won't walk away."

 **MIRROR**

"My Lord?"

Severus Snape of House Prince watched his Lord with a look of trepidation. Voldemort stood in the middle of the Great Hall, surrounded by empty tables and trays, food and litter all around the ground. The only gleaming spot was the great Gilded monstrosity of a throne on its dais. Severus looked over at Lucius but, the man stared at their Lord.

"Severus, Lucius...we have many things to prepare in the next seventy-two hours. Gentlemen, we are going on a hunt," Voldemort said softly. He drew his wand and waved it. Severus watched as a Pensieve melted into being the in the shadow of the Gilded Throne.

He looked at leisure as he pressed his wand to his temple and drew forth a memory. But, Severus knew better. He could see the tension in his Lord's shoulders that belied the carefully lazy mask that he had on. Voldemort let the pale material, neither liquid nor gas fall into the liquid of the Pensieve. Severus gasped when it burst into flames, setting the Pensieve alight.

"My Lord!" Lucius squawked. Then, he paused. "Phoenix fire."

"Reveal your secrets," Voldemort murmured and the crimson flames danced before dying down to a quiet roll. Voldemort stared into the Pensieve, his eyes glazed with lust and rage.

"My Lord, what is it?" Lucius asked, immediately, the perfect soldier.

Severus looked at his friend from the corner of his eye. The perfect soldier in icy blue silk and cream robes. Lucius was the perfect soldier to their Lord and his wife's bitch. But, then again, Narcissa was a manipulation woman who smiled pretty smiles and had men and women falling over themselves to proclaim their adoration of her. Severus didn't think he'd ever seen Narcissa's true face.

"Come," Voldemort commanded. "Look into the Pensieve. What do you see?"

Severus and Lucius approached slowly, as if Voldemort could snap out at them at any moment. Voldemort was not known for his patience and he was a demanding Lord. Even still, Severus didn't think he would ever betray the man, no matter that he had killed the woman that Severus had once loved. Voldemort had given Severus a place despite the fact that he was bastard child denied his noble rights.

Severus owned Voldemort his life and loyalty.

"Look," Voldemort urged.

Lucius and Severus exchanged glances once more before they looked down into the bright red gas-liquid. Severus choked on the gasp that had managed to escape his lips.

The boy was beautiful. His lips were plump and red, kissable. His skin was pale as snow; difference from Narcissa and Draco's pale skin. Their skin was the color of bone and ice, brittle and thin, like a membrane. This boy was gorgeous with crimson high in his cheeks from rage. His hair curled messily around his head like a halo.

His eyes. Severus would die if he could stare into those eyes while he did it. He had Lily's eyes.

"That is the Prince of Gryffindor," Severus said, solemnly.

Lucius swallowed. "The Fairest-of-Them-All."

Voldemort nodded.

"Yes. He is. He is the key to this empire. The true heir to the Gilded Throne. He has a claim to the throne that neither I nor my sister could _ever_ challenge. We took this throne by right of conquest. He can take it back by right of blood. We must hunt him down. Do you understand me?" Voldemort asked, voice so soft as he watched the memory of the Fairest. Voldemort brushed his fingers across the gas-liquid and jerked it away, as if he had been burned.

"My Lord, do you have any idea where he could be?" Lucius asked.

Voldemort looked at him with narrowed eyes. Lucius didn't flinch away. He knew that the Dark Lord would not appreciate them showing fear in the face of adversary, even if that adversary was himself. Voldemort had taught them that emotion—any emotion—could be used against them. Otherwise, you would have to leave Voldemort's service.

If one left the Death Eaters, it wasn't by choice. You left because you were dead.

"He could be anywhere. Fawkes is a very smart bird," Voldemort acknowledged grudgingly.

Severus' eyes widened. The phoenix had appeared. Then, it was the Prince. There was no question about the boy's identity.

"Have you scryed for the boy?" Lucius suggested.

"Aye. He is behind very powerful wards. A modified Fidelius Charm, layers of protective enchantments. The wards are most likely anchored," Voldemort drawled, fury changing his mood.

Severus nodded again. So, nearly impenetrable wards. The boy was untraceable. And still, they would try to find him. Voldemort turned from him, running a vicious hand through his black hair, mussing it. Severus frowned when he saw Horcrux on his right side but, the curved blade was missing from his left.

"My Lord?"

"What is it, Lucius?" Voldemort asked without turning around.

"Where is your knife? The knife that—"

Voldemort spun around, his eyes the color of hellfire. Fury rolled off him in waves and Severus took a step back. Lucius flinched so hard, he slammed in Severus' shoulder.

"That wretched child took it. But, I shall have it back along with his heart. Prepare yourselves. We leave in seventy-two hours. At dawn."

 **MIRROR**

"Narcissa."

The blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman looked up, sharply, her eyes glittering in slight interest. She looked up and down at her husband smirking at his robes, so perfectly matching to the gown discarded on the ground. Narcissa ducked under the water one more time before she came up, gasping for air, suds dripping from her naked body. Unashamed, she stepped out, taking up her wand.

"Dry me, my love?" Narcissa drawled.

Lucius lifted his wand and casted the Warming Charm, blasting hot air all over her. Narcissa ran her fingers through her wet hair, plaiting it as she braided. She shivered at the contrast―cold and hot―and her nipples hardened in the open air. Lucius stared. Narcissa smirked as she pulled her nightgown over her head, a long ivory silk thing that had been made to fall over her curves, enticingly.

Lucius crossed his arms over his chest. "I leave in three days. I wished to alert you," Lucius said coolly.

Narcissa's eyes widened and became alight with a sort of wickedness that Lucius recognized. She was _scheming_.

"Is that so? And are the Death Eaters joining you? Is my brother leading you off for a hint?" Narcissa purred as she approached her husband, running her hands up his chest.

Lucius stared at her impassively, a single pale eyebrow raised in contemplation. His cunning bitch of a wife was trying to lie with him. His lovely cunning bitch of a wife. He grinned, settling his hands on her wide hips. Narcissa leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

They did not love each other. They never had.

Lucius had pledged his loyalty to Voldemort long before he had married Narcissa and, Narcissa did not take kindly to such a thing. But, she was a beautiful woman and he couldn't leave her. She would kill him out of utter humiliation and, it was far safer to be in her good graces than out of them. She was Lady of the Coin for a reason.

"No. The Dark Lord, Severus, and I will go alone. We shan't discuss it though so, don't try to seduce a word out of me, Cissa," Lucius warned.

Narcissa's eyes brightened with elation for a moment before she settled against his chest, rubbing her body against his.

"Ah...then I shall begin planning a grand party to celebrate a successful hunt," she murmured as she took him by his hands and led him out of the bathing room and into her bedroom. "Lie with me, my love."

Lucius smirked and unbuttoned his jerkin. Narcissa ripped his shirt from his shoulders and laughed when he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her onto the bed. When he was on top of her, she no longer pretended to smile.

She moaned in the right places as he thrusted away, kept his head tucked into the side of her neck while she stared at the canopy of her bed. She whimpered and mewled as she plotted, the plan sliding into place before she even conjured the thoughts.

She would have to do it, quickly and without prior thought. Voldemort could read minds when he cared to and Severus was perceptive. No, these thoughts were for the night, hidden under the false pleasure that her husband gave her.

Seventy-two hours and then...and _then_...

 **ON**

The room he had been given was beautiful. It was fully furnished with a large plush goose feather bed and heavy blankets that would keep him warm in a way that Harry had never been. There was a long mirror and Tonks had promised that they were going to _make_ him a new wardrobe. It made Harry feel guilty. He got such a nice room when many lived in tents.

But, Ron had said that wasn't a problem. Apparently, wizarding tents were much nicer on the inside than the outside. But, still, Harry lived in the manor with a fireplace. The manor was called the Burrow II, after the rickety, tall house that Ron had lived in with his family when his parents had been alive.

Ron had only spoken on his parents once. He said that they were dead and left it at that. Ginny hadn't spoken at all, turning white at the mention of it. Harry made a note not to ask again. These people weren't like him. They had actually known their parents.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't look like a Prince. He looked like Harry Evans, the ratty boy in the too-big clothes. And yet, he was Harry _Potter_. He had escaped the Dark Lord and with a souvenir, no less. He was the long-lost Heir to the Gilded Throne. Harry could _do_ something about the world that he lived in.

He was getting a wand. According to McGonagall, at least. He could only use his fire without a wand and apparently, he needed lessons. He would finally train his magic properly and get _formal_ lessons with a sword. Harry wasn't sure how formal duelling would help in a war. But, he'd be able to be scrappy when he needed to be. It didn't matter, at least.

Harry was just glad that he wasn't being treated like Queen Bellatrix.

Harry wasn't just the pretty one. He wasn't just the Fairest-of-Them-All. He wouldn't allow people to dictate what he said or did. He would not let people fight _for_ him because he would fight _with_ them.

He was no one's figurehead.

They wanted a warrior king and he would give them one.

And that was his vow.

 **THE**

"This will be a long hard journey," Lucius murmured to Severus, low enough that he didn't disturb their Lord as he threw two bags over the side of his horse, magically expanded to house everything that he might need.

"A journey that may be fruitless. You heard what our Lord said. The kind of wards that protect the boy," Severus said, shortly, his voice even lower than Lucius'. Their Lord wouldn't take kindly to the implication that something was impossible for him.

"He wants the boy, he'll get the boy," Lucius said, firmly, and the two exchanged grim looks.

Whatever their Lord wanted, their Lord made it happen by any means necessary.

"Time to go, my Lord?" Severus asked, mounting his own palfrey and adjusting one of the side satchels. He stiffly pulled his cloak around himself. It was scorching on the Hogwarts grounds, eternally summer, but, outside, winter was fast approaching.

He wasn't excited for the frigid nights. Magic only did so much in the special type of cold that permeated the Forbidden Forest.

"Yes. It is dawn," Voldemort said, leading his palfrey from the stable, hissing softly at her, as if she were his pet snake, Nagini.

Severus followed the Dark Lord out of the stable when Voldemort came to an abrupt stop. Severus craned his neck to see past his Lord but, the Dark Lord's gaze was trained downwards.

"My Lord."

Voldemort dismounted as he stared at the girl. She was so tiny in comparison to him. He could crush her neck with one hand, and still, she looked unafraid. Severus and Lucius exchanged glances. Voldemort looked down at the girl.

"It's Luna, my Lord," she reminded him, patiently, cradling something in her hands. "You...you saved me. The Muggles were going to burn me."

Voldemort's eyes widened. "Ah, yes. What is it that you need, girl?"

Luna stepped closer and offered the round object wrapped in a small linen rag. Voldemort took it, cradling it.

"This belonged to my mother," Luna whispered and Voldemort frowned as he looked down at the cement colored stone, oblong and round. Luna smiled sweetly. "Press it into the cradle of the statue's hands and cover it in ash."

"What is it?" Lucius asked, his nose wrinkled.

"Fairy magic, my Lord. This stone will react once it touches fire. Please, my Lord. Place it as an offering in Lily's hands," Luna said, dreamily. Severus stiffened at the mention of the Princess' name but, Voldemort didn't react. He only stared at the stone.

"This is…" he began.

Luna smiled. "It is."

Voldemort nodded once and moved to slide it into the satchel on the side of his horse.

The sun brokes it ways from the horizon and the Dark Lord mounted his stallion easily. He looked over his shoulder. Lucius sat astride his white stallion. Severus rested, uneasy, on the bay horse that the Dark Lord had gifted him just a few years ago for his decades-long service.

Voldemort pushed his uneasy servants from his mind. He had a goal.

He had spoken to Bellatrix and she had whole-heartedly agreed with his plan. She had calmed from their spat after he had healed her broken nose. Then, she had headbutted him, breaking his own nose. He had punched her in the face for that and she had just laughed, cracking her own nose into place and setting it. After that, Bellatrix had not shouted scathing insults nor had she used his birth name. She had simply stared at him, with her lustful gaze.

Once upon a time, Voldemort _may_ have given Bellatrix what she desired. But, now...now, he had seen _genuine_ beauty.

Beauty that was not granted by Darkness and he could no longer think of any woman or man as beautiful. Not even himself.

Not when his nights―usually dreamless nights―were so full of lips of blood, hair as black as midnight, and skin, pale as fresh snow. That was true beauty and Voldemort knew, that even in death, with chest carved open and ribcage broken wide, Harry Potter of House Gryffindor would _still_ be beautiful.

"My Lord? Are we off?" Lucius asked.

The Dark Lord glanced behind him one more time. The girl, Luna, smiled sweetly at him. He remembered her as a girl, tied to the stake in a faraway land, eyes bright like her mother's. Pandora...spinning curses on her spinning wheel. Pandora, with eyes bright with flame. Pandora. He might've called her a friend and this girl looked so much like _Pandora_.

Voldemort looked up. Bellatrix stood on the balcony of the North Tower, where the Seer was house. She was staring at him and he could feel her piercing violet stare. She expected a heart, raw and bloody. He expected a _heart_. He had no time for altars of phoenixes and ashes and stones.

But, Pandora's girl. Pandora. Pandora who begged, Pandora who died. Pandora who saw farther than any. Pandora who he had found in a bog in goblin country, escaping her fate until they had caught her. Pandora, who had spoke blackness into his heart. Pandora. This girl who looked so like Pandora who looked so like Helena.

"Girl, you say bury it in the ashes of the statue's hand?" Voldemort asked.

"Aye, my Lord," Luna said. "Honor my mother, my Lord? My mother who taught you about your own reflection."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Aye, girl. I shall honor her."

"My Lord," Severus said, firmly, his shrewd, black gaze trained on the girl's dreamy face.

"Aye. Off."

 **WALL**

Harry yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat upon in his _extremely_ soft mattress. He frowned, looking around. His mattress was made upon of a threadbare sheet and straw. Harry reached to the side, groping for his glasses and he jammed them on his face. Harry grinned.

Every day, for the past week, he had woken up, expecting to be back in Little Whinging in his little attic room. And every day, he was pleasantly reminded that he had escaped to this place. The Burrow II. His bones ached from intensive training, which he had begun with Ron the day after his arrival. He had a full belly from a great meal last night. The camp had their own cattle and raised their own chickens and pheasants. So, everyone had _something_ to eat every night.

His sheets were made of light cotton, not scratchy burlap, and he had a heavy velvet comforter that kept him warm, like his fireplace. The pillows were stuffed with goosefeathers instead of straw. Harry could have stayed in the luxuriously made bed for hours but, he knew the routine. He cocked his head, waiting for the door.

There a heavy knock.

She didn't wait for an answer. The door swung open with a resounding slam and Harry jumped so hard, he pulled the curved knife from under his pillow and the flames in the fireplace brightened from dying embers to a roar.

Tonks held up her hands in surrender, pushing her red hood down from her head. Harry looked at her hair in surprise. She no longer had pink hair as she had had for the past week but, now long turquoise hair that fell down to her hips.

"Wotcher, Prince…"

"It's _just_ Harry. You've seen me naked, Tonks," Harry reminded her, flushing at the reminder of when Tonks had come into his room the first day as he was changing out of his night clothes into a pair of borrowed robes.

Tonks nodded with a lazy grin and she slunk into the room, her red cloak billowing behind her to reveal a low cut, provocative cream coloured dress that drew attention to her ample bosom.

"Wotcher, _Harry._ The wandmaker is finally here. Get dressed and be downstairs soon," Tonks said, tossing a bundle of clothing on his bed and she fell into a clumsy curtsey that she nearly fell out of.

Harry burst into a round of laughter and she responded with a grin and a rude gesture before she stumbled out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry sat in silence for a moment. So, the new clothes were finally here. This place was so different from the Dursleys. He had always worn Dudley's old clothing. Petunia and Vernon though it a waste of cloth and galleons to have clothing made for him when Dudley's would him just as well.

Harry swallowed and stripped out of his night clothes and tossed it to the ground, leaving him naked. Harry no longer felt cold anymore. His skin burned hotter since he had first summoned the Fire. He slipped on the find leather trousers and the billowing cotton shirt. When he slipped on the emerald green jerkin, he smiled. He looked like a _prince_.

Harry grabbed for his knife and he didn't bother with shoes as he walked out of the room.

Tonks was leaning against the wall and she grinned when she saw him. She hooked arms with him and stuck close.

"He's here. Come on, Harry," Tonks urged as she led him down the long hallway, past the open doors where some of the other Order members peeked in, curiosity written on their faces.

Harry did not flush under their gazes, opting to face forward and walk arm-in-arm with Tonks. As they they turned into the meeting room,a room that Harry had found doubled as a dining area, Harry took in the gazes of the primary Order members.

The Weasleys were all gathered, whispering to each other. Harry looked over them, going through names in his head again. Bill. Charlie. Percy. Fred and George. He wasn't sure which was which yet but, he'd learn. Ginny. Ron. They gathered around Ginny, as if she were their leader. She was stone-faced. How appropriate.

McGonagall sat to the left of the head of the table, wearing blue tartan robes. Remus waited, staring at Harry again with that wide-eyed look that he'd had all week, when he wasn't actively trying to _avoid_ Harry. Tonks danced over to the open seat next to Remus and collapsed into it.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing _you_ , Prince Harry."

Harry looked at the old man, standing a few feet behind the open chair at the head of the table. He had pale silvery eyes and looked nearly ageless. There was something omniscient about him and and it frightened him.

"Yes?" Harry murmured.

"Your Highness, I am Ollivander. The wandmaker."

 **WHO**

Hermione smiled to herself as she finally crept away from Luna, with her strange tales of nargles and Blibberings Humdingers and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. She loved Luna dearly; the girl was her only friend. But, there was only so many made-up stories about imaginary creatures that Hermione could take, especially when Hermione wanted to desperately know more about Albion history and Luna was reluctant to share.

And then she heard it. The chanting.

Hermione frowned as she went down the deserted hallway. This hallway looked unused, as if it had not been visited for some time. Hermione crept forward, on her toes, grateful that her silk slippers didn't make a sound. They weren't like those horrid glass things that Fleur had slipped onto her feet, the slippers that she had _bled_ in, the slippers Draco kept in his rooms as a trophy.

The language was sibilant, more hissing than anything else. She peeked through the crack in the door and nearly let out a whine.

Narcissa, the Duchess and Warden of the East, stood before a bubbling cauldron, dropping terrible things into the bubbling blackness. Galleons soaked in blood, violently coloured liquids, amethysts the color of the Queen's eyes, and strands of hair. So much _hair_. And she was stirring the horrid mess with her wand, owning it, putting her emotion into it, and Hermione saw her eyes. It was terrible hatred and cold fury, burning brighter than anything Hermione had ever seen.

Hermione read enough to know that this was blood magic.

She swallowed hard, taking a step back and nearly fell as she stumbled over something. The last Granger clapped a hand to her mouth and swallowed a scream as she saw the poisonous green snake. It was so _long_ and large, neverending. The snake must have been twelve feet long and it was thick as an adult man's thigh. It stopped, slowly turning its great flat head at her, staring at her with bright yellow eyes. It reared higher, yawning its large mouth and showing off shiny flat fangs.

"Hush," a voice urged, low and quiet in her ear. Hermione looked over her shoulder at Luna.

Luna wasn't smiling. She was staring at the snake who flicked its tongue at her and then fell back down, sliding forward and brushing by Hermione's skirts into the room Narcissa occupied. Luna grabbed Hermione by the elbow and dragged her back down the hallway, pushing her into a more occupied space, where servants went about, not paying her any mind.

Hermione released a breath she hadn't known she was holding, gasping wildly.

"W-what was _that_?" Hermione snarled.

Luna narrowed eyes. "That was Nagini. The Dark Lord's snake. It is watching while he is gone," Luna warned.

Hermione swallowed and leaned forward, whispering hurriedly, "Princess Narcissa, she was doing something. Blood magic, Luna. I could _feel_ it. What-"

"Hush," Luna said, far harsher than she ever had before. "Do not speak it. Narcissa has spies everywhere, especially around you."

"Why _me_?" Hermione hissed.

"You will marry her darling boy. One day, you will have the ability to establish control over that boy with the thing between your thighs. That day, Narcissa will lose more power than she already has. She was once a frontrunner to succeed her father. She looked the most like her mother, and Salazar favored her as much as he did Voldemort. But, now, she does not take kindly to being third-best. You best avoid her," Luna warned.

Hermione shook her head. "She's _plotting_ and the Dark Lord isn't here and-"

"She's _always_ plotting," Luna interrupted. Her gaze softened. "Things are happening, Lady Granger. But, do not worry about what the Dark Lord sees or hears. After all, Nagini is watching."

 **IS**

Harry stared at the blocks of wood laid along the table before him. The Order had vacated their seats, choosing to line the walls, staring with excitement. Ron was whispering loudly to Ginny and she constantly hushed him, her eyes on the process. Ollivander waited, patiently.

Harry brushed his fingers along the long chunks of wood. He passed by the ebony and vine wood, easily. His hands flinched away from the walnut and the rosewood. The pear was interested but not right. The pine perhaps but... _no_. It was strange for Harry to consider the wood as sentient but, it was true. Harry could feel it. They were repulsed by him or intrigued and he felt the same.  
Harry stopped at the end of the table and his knees buckled as he felt the pale wood in front of him. A soft sound emerged from his mouth and he stroked the wood with reference. It called to him... _screamed_ at him.

"Yew?" Ollivander asked, softly, as if this was a great surprise to him.

"No...I...it just wanted to say hello," Harry whispered, tearing his hand away with great effort and he looked at the last block of wood.

This wood was quiet. He pressed his fingers to it and gasped when as his fingers sparked and the dark brown block of wood glowed. It floated for a minute before it fell back down to the table.

Ollivander's lips curled into a smile. "Holly."

Harry nodded and he bit his lip as Ollivander came closer to him. The old man reached into his velvet waistcoat and pulled out a measuring tape. The green-eyed boy squirmed nervously as Ollivander wrapped the tape around his forearm and then measured the length of his arm from shoulder to finger tips.

"Eleven inches will do," he said.

The old man stared at him hard before he turned to the anxious Order members.

"Garrick?" McGonagall asked, softly.

"I believe the Prince and I are in need of great privacy, my friends," Ollivander said.

The Weasleys groaned in protest and McGonagall shook his head, shuffling everyone out. Harry swallowed hard as he sat on the edge of the table, watching everyone file out. Moody casted him another suspicious look while McKinnon watched him with disdain. He only received a smile from Tonks and a strange look from Remus. When they were alone, Harry turned to Ollivander. Ollivander was smiling.

"What?" Harry asked.

"We're in need of a core, your Highness," Ollivander said.

Harry winced. "Oh, please don't call me that," he whispered. "And what do you mean, a core?"

"The wood is sentient, yes, but it is not magic. Not yet. Sometimes, we use dragon heartstring from the petrified hearts of the long-gone dragons. Sometimes, a Veela hair―if one wants a volatile wand. Rougarou hair. Dittany stalk. Unicorn tail hair," Ollivander listed.

Harry's eyes widened. "Something natural? From something...living," he whispered.

"Aye," Ollivander agreed. "I have cores in my trunk if you'd like―"

"No," Harry rushed. His cheeks flushed under Ollivander's gaze. "I...well...I've got. _Fawkes_."

Ollivander gasped as a burst of flames erupted over Harry's head and his eyes widened as the phoenix emerged from the flames, landing gracefully on Harry's shoulder, butting his beak gently against Harry's cheek. Harry laughed, pressing a kiss to the long swan-like neck.

"A phoenix. Fawkes," Ollivander whispered.

Harry didn't pay him any mind. "Fawkes, I'd like to ask a gift of you. It might be too much and, it's okay. If it is. But, I'd like a tail feather. For my core. Would that be alright?" he asked, gently and Fawkes tilted his head and cooed, draping his tail over Harry's shoulder. Harry grinned. "Thank you!"

Gently, Harry worked free a long feather, rich with its shades of red and gold, glinting in the daylight from the windows. He offered it to Ollivander.

"This...this will work," Ollivander whispered in wonder. "Thank you again, Fawkes."

Fawkes trilled and hopped off of Harry's shoulder, opening his wings and soaring to the window sill, his long tail draped across the floor. Harry grinned.

"What now?" Harry asked.

Ollivander settled the block of wood and feather on the table before him and pulled free a knife that was not dissimilar to the knife Harry had stolen from Voldemort.

"Now, I work. And we speak," Ollivander decided. Harry leaned forward, curious as Ollivander began to whittle away at the block of wood. "Harry Potter, have you ever loved?"

Harry flushed. "No."

"Good," Ollivander decided. "Love is the death of duty, Harry Potter."

"That's a terribly sad thing to say," Harry whispered and Ollivander smiled, grimly, and nodded. He bent his head again and continued to work. "I would like to love one day."

"Aye you shall. You shall have a great and terrible love one day, my Prince," Ollivander said as he finished creating a hollow in the wood. He took up the phoenix feather with great care and slid it into the hollow breathing life onto it.

"Are you seer, Mr. Ollivander?" Harry asked.

Ollivander laughed. "No. I'm just old. And you are but a boy without a crown."

"I never wanted a crown and I like being a boy," Harry retorted. Ollivander laughed again, shaking his head as he ran his wand over the block of wood and began to chant.

Harry stared wide-eyed as the man seemed to sing ancient words and spells, speaking knowledge and life into the block of wood. He watched the wood seemingly melt―but, that couldn't be true since wood burned and only in fire. Suddenly, the wood _did_ catch fire and Harry gasped, reaching for the broken pieces of his wand. Ollivander nearly cried out before he stopped himself and Harry wrapped his fingers around the block.

"Wait, no―"Harry began and he gasped when the fire extinguished, leaving him a long eleven inch wooden rod, glossy and beautiful. He dropped it, flinching and Ollivander caught it in his gloved hands.

"A boy without a crown," Ollivander whispered. Harry wrapped his arms around himself, wide-eyed. "Every person that has sat on those thrones, until now, has been a child. Overgrown children ruling common folk that they do not know nor do they want to know. Are you a boy, Harry Potter?"

"Yes?" Harry asked.

"Kill the boy, Harry Potter, and let the man be born," Ollivander warned.

Harry swallowed hard and opened his mouth to respond. Ollivander smiled when he couldn't and he went to his trunk, pulling forth a long slim box lined with velvet, settling the wand within it. Ollivander turned back to him.

"I will summon the Order. I'm sure they'd like to see _this_ ," Ollivander said with a small smile.

Harry watched the man leave, stricken by their conversation. He turned to look at Fawkes but, Fawkes cooed at him, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. Harry heard the Order members file in, whispering to themselves.

"His wand…"

"The core is...Fawkes is…"

" _Fawkes_."

Harry turned back to stare at the wand sitting in the lined box of velvet. He bit his lip, looking particularly reluctant. He had gotten on well without a wand before. He only needed his fire.

"Pick it up, Harry."

Harry looked up at Ginny, pressed against the far wall, surrounded by her brother's. Everyone's eyes fell on her and Ginny's ear turned a bright pink. Harry grinned softly. He looked back to Ollivander and the older man nodded.

Harry's hand moved of its own accord and his fingers curled around the smooth rod of holly wood. The Fire roared with happiness and his eyes widened as he lifted his wand into the air. He gasped. Magic spread through him, from the crown of his head to the ends of his toes.

He felt _alive._

That song, the phoenix song filled the air, and then doubled. Harry looked over his shoulder. Fawkes was singing, the phoenix lament harmonizing through the air. And then, gold and crimson flames spurted from the end of his holly wand in a magical display. The flames took the shape of a phoenix and it soared around around him, making the hair on his arms stand on end before disappearing as quickly as it came.

The Order gasped, whispering in awe but, Harry only had eyes for Ollivander.

"Curious. Very curious, indeed."

Harry frowned. "What's curious?" he asked as he sat down in his chair and looked up at Ollivander.

Ollivander's expression grew distant and his colourless eyes glazed over as he lost himself in a memory.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Harry Potter, and every want that I've ever made. Wand cores are hard to come by. Phoenix tail feathers even harder. Long ago, Fawkes chose another. A friend. And Fawkes donated a feather. Just like yours. Just _one_ other," Ollivander said, and his words sounded heavy.

"My mother?" Harry asked.

Ollivander shook his head. "No. It's curious that you should be destined for this wand, when the owner of its _brother_...carved your mother's heart out with that knife."

Harry's eyes widened at the implications. He ran his hand over the rod of his wand, staring at it.

"The Dark Lord," Harry said.

Ollivander nodded. "Before he was the Dark Lord...before he was Voldemort...he was called another name, Harry Potter. And the wand _chose_ that wizard. By _that_ name. It's not always clear why. The wand that I crafted for him was made of yew and a phoenix tail feather. For certain wizards, _great_ wizards, it is necessary for him to have a hand in the crafting, as you did. I think it is clear that we can expect great things from you. After all...the Dark Lord does great things…terrible, yes, but _great_."

Harry nodded as he recalled the crimson eyes that had bored into his. He felt a chill run up his spine as he thought of strong jaws and dark smirks. The rough velvet of his voice. The impressive, _oppressive_ , darkness of his magic.

"What was his name, Mr. Ollivander?" Harry asked.

Ollivander smiled, slyly and leaned forward until he was close enough that only Harry would hear his words. And Ollivander breathed, " _Kingmaker._ "

 **FAIREST**

His wand was vibrating. _Singing_.

For the second time within a week's time, he heard the phoenix's lament, as powerful as it had been the night that Lily had died. Voldemort closed his eyes, listening to the song.

He was aware that his most trusted had stopped behind him and were staring at him with open incredulity. He paid no mind to them, revelling in the call. This was a first and Voldemort had thought that all of his first in life had been long past.

Voldemort's brow furrowed and his left hand tightened on the leather of his reins for just a moment before he reminded himself to relax. His horse stiffened beneath him, feeling it as well. These was a disturbance. Something powerful and raw fell heavy upon all three mean. Voldemort could smell burning incense and smoke in the air. His eyes widened in utter delight.

His lips curled into a smile as the familiar fire washed over him and his wand vibrated harder and harder. He pulled back his arm and thrusted his wand high into the air. A burst of frigid air and ice erupted from the end of his wand, cold enough to rival the blizzards of the North. It disappeared as soon as it came.

"What was that, my Lord?" Lucius whispered.

"I know where the Fairest is," Voldemort whispered. "We have been going towards Little Whinging but, the boy is South. I thought it foolish for him to be South and so, I thought to go where they thought we might not venture. But, the Order are either fools or geniuses alike. I wonder about their leader."

"He is formidable. A tactician and a genius, I hear," Severus confirmed. He rode forward until he was just on his Lord's left. "Do we double back and right South, then, my Lord?"

"No," Voldemort said immediately. "Not yet. We are close to the tower."

"You're really going to go, my Lord? Aye, it is a league or two away but, depending on how far South we must go, it is another five days of travel. A week at most. We traverse across the continent," Lucius reminded him and he fell silent when the Dark Lord glared at him with bright red eyes.

"We go to the tower. Or do you question Lord Voldemort's ability to create a simple _Portkey_ , if need be?" Voldemort asked, dangerously.

Lucius dropped his head. "No. My Lord. I apologize."

Voldemort nodded once and urged his palfrey forward, galloping along the path. He could see the crumbling tower above the trees, the wards long gone. Except there were new ones. Flimsy and alerted someone to anyone approaching. No matter. Voldemort had a stone to deliver, to honor the woman that had shone him and his sister a path to immortality, a path that she had never accomplished.

When they broke into the clearing, Voldemort brought his horse to an abrupt stop. He stared.

At the base of the tower was a mausoleum; bright, white and marble. He wasn't sure why he expected Lily to be rotting where he left her, but he had. Instead, someone had made a martyr of her. The doors of her mausoleum bore the image of a phoenix. More importantly, they were cracked open. Voldemort dismounted, and reached for the stone in the satchel. He cradled it in both hands. It was warm to the touch, as if it was a heart, beating like Helena's and Lily's had beat before he'd torn them from their chests.

"Wait for me here. I do not wish to be disturbed," Voldemort warned.

Severus opened his mouth, as if to protest, before he thought better of it. Voldemort walked towards the mausoleum and shouldered it open. He stared into yawning mouth of darkness and began his descent. The Queen's brother had never been afraid of the dark, even as a child, so many years ago. Even then, he knew, subconsciously perhaps, that he _was_ the darkness. The descent was long and unwieldy but, when he found the bottom, he stared along the long crypt, the trough of oil burning, as if they were waiting for him.

He was sure that she was in the stone wall, buried in the foundations of the tower, probably with her blood traitor husband. But, he only had eyes for the statue.

It looked just like her, painstakingly so. The roundness of her jaw, the sternness of her mouth. Long hair spilling around her to her feet. This was the Lily he had seen before she had died, defiant until the very end. Her eyes were emeralds. Harry Potter truly did have his mother's eyes. Voldemort had nearly forgotten what Lily looked like.

Her hands were cupped together in front of her, in offering. Voldemort approached, slowly, under the immortal judgment of her gaze and he laid the stone in the ashes the marble statue bared in her hands. He brushed his fingers against the cold marble.

The Fairest had been here.

He could feel it in the air, heavy and daunting and holy in ways that he did not understand.

Voldemort stood there for a long moment, watching Lily's statue. It was almost as if she were watching back.

When he finally emerged, the sun was far lower in the sky than before and Lucius and Severus watched him in worry. Voldemort silently mounted his horse.

"It is done," he said. "Now, to the South."

 **OF**

"He is not back. He should be back to us," Bellatrix stuttered to herself.

Narcissa sighed. "Nine days isn't long for a hunt, dear sister. Soon, he will be back with the spoils."

Narcissa stood behind her sister, a light smile upon her face as she pulled the amethyst-encrusted comb through the Queen's luxurious black hair. It was so beautiful and thick, yet soft like silk

"I was once jealous of your hair," Narcissa said, softly as she combed through the tangles and snarls from the day, preparing to braid the wet mop as Bellatrix did nearly every night. "It's so heavy and long and dark. You look like a Slytherin."

Bellatrix's lips twitched into a smug little smile. Narcissa leaned forward, pressing her chin onto Bellatrix's shoulder, pressing their cheeks together. Bellatrix looked at their reflection with serious purple eyes. Narcissa hummed. Bellatrix was lucid tonight.

 _Good_.

"What is it, Cissy?"

Narcissa nearly winced at the nickname from childhood. Her father had called her 'Cissy'. Helena had called her 'Cissy'. Slowly, Narcissa turned to look Bellatrix in the face. They were only an inch or two apart. Bellatrix didn't flinch away, perfectly content with their close proximity. Narcissa ran her fingers through Bellatrix's thick hair again.

"I fear for the empire," Narcissa confessed, the perfect amount of submission and reluctance in her face. Bellatrix pulled away so that she could focus on Narcissa's face.

"And why...is that?"

Narcissa bit her bottom and lowered her gaze. She bit harder, forcing her smile away. It had taken Narcissa years and years to master herself. It had taken her years to become ice and stone. To become a diamond.

"The common folk are not happy. The court is offended by the war we fight, offended that we are preparing to tax them as we tax the common folk. The forests and their lands are being ravaged in skirmishes with the Order. There is talk of rebellion," Narcissa said, spinning her tales. Bellatrix looked at her, thoughtfully. "All is not well. You... _we_ are slipping. The Mortem Phoenix ceremony was near disaster. At the ball, I heard talk. They were questioning you. They saw how you faltered during the speech."

Bellatrix's lip curled. "We finished our speech."

"I know our brother dictated you," Narcissa said, keeping her voice carefully apologetic.

Bellatrix's cheeks flushed with humiliation. Narcissa gave her a rueful smile, waiting. Bellatrix nodded, slowly, confirming what Narcissa already knew to be true. Narcissa sighed. She wondered how her family _still_ thought that she was slow-all but Andromeda. Narcissa was shrewd. All she did was for the good of the empire, the good of her family, and the wellbeing of her son.

"Narcissa...we shall address this when our brother returns. He shall know what to do."

Bellatrix smiled, happy with her decision. Narcissa gave her sister another pitying look and she stood, pulling the comb through her hair again, settling it behind hear. The amethysts glinted malevolently.

"Sister, I'm afraid not. We won't be addressing with our brother. Not at all."

Bellatrix frowned. She asked, "Why ever not?"

"We shall be preoccupied, my dear," Narcissa said, smiling pleasantly. "A funeral and a coronation are large events to plan. Even for me."

Bellatrix froze and Narcissa's hand pressed hard against the older woman's shoulder. Narcissa pulled her wand at the same moment Bellatrix reached for hers. The unyielding wand of walnut and dragon heartstring exploded, splinters decorating the counter of the vanity. Bellatrix let out a horrid scream as she grasped for the sinewy core, pulling tight to her chest, cradling it. Narcissa stared down at her coldly.

" _Incarcerous_ ," Narcissa with a flick of her wrist and Bellatrix fell to the floor as ropes sprung forward, wrapping around her. " _Diffindo_."

A chunk of Bellatrix's dark black hair fell to the ground and Narcissa scooped it up, busily unstoppering a vial hanging from her waist. She dropped a lock into the mud-colored potion, thick and sludge-like.

"Narcissa, _don't_ ," Bellatrix squealed, inching away, sliding against the marble floors like the little worm that she had become.

Narcissa remembered her sister, vaguely. Before it had all started. Before Bellatrix had dipped her toe into Black magic, aging faster than she should. Before she sustained herself on blood and hearts. Before she had begun to speak in third person. Before Helena. Narcissa _remembered_ her sister, the formidable Bellatrix Slytherin. How far they had come.

"I'm afraid that our brother is not here to save you. You have, in all your failings, nearly destroyed this kingdom. You are no longer fit to rule."

Bellatrix bared her teeth and let out a terrible sound, a cross being a squeal and a roar. Narcissa smiled, coldly.

"Treason is punishable by _death_. We do not make exceptions!" Bellatrix shrieked, twisting and turning on the ground, rubbing her skin raw with ropes. Narcissa towered over her, raising a single ash blonde eyebrow. "What is that you hope to achieve, Narcissa?"

Narcissa felt icy fury. "You never deserved this. You don't deserve what he gave you. It was supposed to be mine. Father knew it. Mother knew it. Gideon and Rowena and Helga knew it. I was born for this. You were born into madness, with the name Chaos-Bringer. What king could come out of that?"

"You believe in fates and names far too much for you own good," Bellatrix snarled, throwing herself against the ground in a fit to free herself.

"You never deserved this. If it wasn't me, it was him. Brother. I was most like him. I created myself in his image. So why you?" Narcissa snarled, her voice rage turning her voice low and guttural.

Bellatrix smiled, deranged and furious.

"Because we are more beautiful than you could ever hope to be. And what does our dear brother love more than anything?" Bellatrix baited.

Narcissa whispered, "Beauty."

"Yes, beauty," Bellatrix said, fully of malicious pity. "Beauty makes gods and my brother loves me like the gods.

Narcissa's lip quivered.

"I _kill_ gods," Narcissa snarled. "I shall take away the one thing that you hold over _me_."

Narcissa fell to her knees, heavily and the fallen Queen bared her teeth and growled, fearl, wordlessly promising retribution. Narcissa's lips pulled back and she shook her head, Silencing her with a wave of her wand.

"You were a fool, Bella. In your years of failing to rule and being content with it, you have forgotten that this... _life_ is a chess game. Checkmate."

Narcissa cast a Cutting Charm and Bellatrix gave a silent cry. Narcissa watched blood well and she dragged her finger through it, smearing it on her hand. She yanked the silver comb out of Bellatrix's hair, long locks still attached, torn from the root. Narcissa smeared Bellatrix's blood all over it, smiling softly as she worked. And when the blood touched the amethysts, it began.

"Beauty is power. And you no longer have it," Narcissa whispered, kissing her sister's cheek.

Narcissa watched as the comb began to act, leeching at Bellatrix's black magic, taking everything that she had to offer.

Including, her beauty.

Bellatrix's long, luscious black hair thinned and turned a dull silvery grey before it lightened to white, falling from her head in clumps. Her skin wrinkled until the lines were deep as the Earth and her jaw sagged. Liver spots marked her arms, her chest, her neck. She seemed to shrink, folding into herself, her skin collapsing, arms fattening, belly fattening. Narcissa pulled the comb from her sister's hair and smiled, waving her wand.

The ropes fell away and the Silencing Charm ended.

"What...what did you _do_ to us? What did you do to Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer?" Bellatrix whispered, her voice croaking. With a quiet moan, she sat up and looked at the wall-tall mirror. She froze as she saw the old crone staring back at ehr.

"You are no longer beautiful," Narcissa said, softly. "On my fifteenth annual, I got a name too. I am Narcissa Godkiller. Fear me."

And then Bellatrix let out a bloodcurdling scream of grief. Narcissa spun around as the door swung open. A maidservant. _Perfect._

"Your Majesty?" she whispered, looking at the horrifying scene.

Narcissa lifted her wand. _"Imperio_."

The girl stiffened, her eyes glazing over and swiftly, she closed the door and marched over to Narcissa's side. Bellatrix moaned, pulling her dressing robe tighter around her misshapen body, weeping like the old crone that she had become. Narcissa pulled forth the vile potion.

"Take this," Narcissa said, her voice cold.

The maidservant did as she was bid and she violently convulsed as the potion immediately began to take effect. Her face bubbled and Narcissa sneered as her sister's _beautiful_ face appeared in front of her, full and wonderful and well, she was a beauty. Once. The maidservant waited, perfectly still. A perfect replica of the Queen.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

The Polyjuiced maidservant fell to the ground dead. Bellatrix stared at her own form, purple eyes glassy, and let out a trembling sob. Carefully, Narcissa schooled her face in a look of grief and agony. She winked at Bellatrix before she turned, running towards the doors. She threw the doors open and sobbed, looking up and down the deserted hallway.

" _HELP!_ " she screamed, so loud that her vocal cords felt like they were being ripped to shreds. " _HELP! GUARDS! THE QUEEN! MY SISTER! THE QUEEN! SOMEBODY KILLED MY SISTER! HELP ME! SOMEBODY KILLED MY SISTER!"_

Narcissa turned around, face like stone again. The crone was still staring at her reflection, repulsed and fascinated with her ugliness. Bellatrix spun took glower at her sister, shock and rage twisting her face.

"You'd better leave. They'll think it was you," Narcissa said coldly as she heard the feet pounding.

The Aurors were coming.

Narcissa scrunched her face, willing the tears to spill down her face and she let out a heaving sob, dropping to her knees and holding the maidservant's Polyjuiced potion tight to her body. Trembling with false sobs, she smiled through them at Bellatrix.

"You shall rue this day," Bellatrix whispered. "The day that we return is the day that you shall die. You are a snake."

Narcissa smiled harder through her sobs.

"Thank you," she whispered with a smile before she sobbed again. " _MY SISTER!_ "

Bellatrix crawled towards the mirror as she heard the guards grow closer and closed and with one final look back, she plunged into the mirror and was gone.

 **THEM**

Harry wiped the sweat off his brow and sighed, pushing sticky tendrils of hair from his face and pushing it behind his ear. Ron grinned at him and lifted the sword again obvious invitation. Harry stayed where he stood, hesitation written on his face. He swallowed, breathing hard.

"I don't...I'm not…" Harry stammered and Ron sighed, lowering his sword. Ron's grin never did leave his tanned, freckled face.

Ginny peeked over from where she practiced with her bow and arrow. She had demonstrated her skills with a bow and arrow when Harry had first training his second day. Even though her weapon of choice was a bow, she had kicked his arse soundly though she'd been impressed with his minimal skills at sword-fighting and had appreciated his willingness to fight dirty. That was not the case with Ron.

Even before this lesson, their first lesson with live blades, Ron had been soft on him. Harry had a collections of bruises but, not nearly as many than the first time that he had sparred with Ginny. Ron apologized profusely after every hiss of pain Harry made. It was frustrating, to say the least.

"Don't give up, Harry. You're good. You have grace and talent. I bet you've inherited something from your family. A lot of people say that your father was one of the best Aurors to ever live and your grandfather was the greatest swordsman of Albion," Ron said, attempting to encourage.

Harry stiffened. Those were big things to live up to along with all of the responsibilities being heaped upon his shoulder.

Night was fast approaching and when the sun died, so did lessons. He was both happy and irritated with how fast the days were passing. It had been another half-week since he'd gotten his wand and he was happier than he had ever been. The first part of his days were spent eating breakfast and learning etiquette from Madame McGonagall and _Tonks_ of all people. Then, lunch was spent eating while learning about his enemies. Now, swordplay until dusk.

And it was hard. Much harder than what he had done in Godric's Hollow. Gordon had been child's play. These were battle-hardened soldiers. Harry ached and he was tired, 'grace' and 'talent' be damned.

Ron treated him like a girl, half the time, and Harry didn't particularly mind because Ginny was a girl and so was Tonks but, he _didn't_ appreciate being condescended or treated like he was weak. It was degrading to be helped up after being on your ass and being checked over any little cut when he was _supposed_ to be leading a war effort.

"I'll go again. Again," Harry said, firmly.

Ron nodded, coming at him slowly and easily with little cuts and jabs that made Harry's cheeks burn in embarrassment.

People were watching them train. Even some of the younger children and senior Order members. Tonks and Remus were watching him with Kingsley Shacklebolt and one sneering Marlene McKinnon. At least Madame McGonagall was inside with Bill, Charlie, Mad-Eye Moody, and some of the other, older Order members. They wouldn't see his fucking shame. All of these people, people that expected her to lead them, were watching Ron treat him like a delicate fucking flower.

And so, instead of parrying as he was supposed to, Harry ducked under the cut and jab and slid into Ron's person space. He spun and dug his bony elbow into Ron's stomach. Ron grunted and stumbled back, his sword flailing in the air.

Something like triumph roared in Harry's chest. He let it flow, sending his sword slashing in a flurry of controlled fury. He imagined that Ron was Gordon, that piece of shit that tried to rape him. Ron's grunts of effort drove Harry on and Harry swiftly turn his sword around Ron's, twisting Ron's grip and unbalancing him, so that Ron threw his arms out, leaving him wide open.

Harry kicked his foot out straight with all of his might. His foot connected with Ron's chest and Ron made a choked sound as he topped to the ground. Harry spun and stood over Ron, pressing the live blade against his neck. There was silence for just a minute, interrupted with a quiet clap. Harry spun and looked at Ginny, who looked impressed though embarrassed by his attention.

The rest of Harry's audience began to applaud as well. Ron looked up Harry, dumbstruck.

"What...what was _that_?" Ron asked.

"You treat me like a flower. I may be _pretty_ , Ron—" Harry said, tersely.

"Beautiful," Ron corrected before flushing.

Harry's eyes narrowed in annoyance.

" _Ron_ , I may be beautiful but, that doesn't me any less of a warrior. You all want a warrior. A hero. I can't be that hero if you treat me like I'm something delicate," Harry reprimanded. Ron looked down, mortified about his indirect insult.

Harry smiled, offering his hand to the youngest Weasley boy. Ron took it, allowed Harry to pull him to his feet.

Ron swallowed. "Would you rather train with someone else?" he asked, forlornly, ears still pink.

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

" _No_ ," he said, firmly. He fell into a duelling stance. "Now. Again."

 **ALL?**

They knew he was coming.

Voldemort grimaced. Passing through the wards to the tower had not been ideal but, he had made a choice. He would deal with it now. They were so proud in their robes, baring the phoenix on their breasts. But, Voldemort only had eyes for the woman in green tartan. It was a tartan that Voldemort remembered seeing since they were both children. Except, she had aged and he had remained beautiful.

"I should've known," Voldemort drawled, staring at the older woman.

The cobbled roads were deserted, but Voldemort saw the men and women and children peeking out through their shutters. The older woman took another step forward, raising her wand. The men and women in battle robes behind her had emblems of phoenixes on their fronts. The Order. McGonagall, the woman that had been the Head of Household in Hogwarts for decades, was practically flaunting the fact that she was a traitor.

Voldemort looked over his shoulder. Lucius and Severus waited atop their horse, solemn and ready to obey any orders.

"Where is he?" Voldemort asked through clenched teeth and Madame McGonagall gave him a cold smile devoid of any humor.

"Asking such a question doesn't guarantee an answer," Madame McGonagall said, mockingly and Voldemort stared back at her through eyes that sent a chill down McGonagall's spine.

"I have heard of you woman. They called you the 'Shield-Maiden of Peace' though you bring war wherever you walk," Voldemort challenged.

McGonagall clenched her jaw. She had come face to face with many monstrous things in her life—the ugliest things—but there was nothing so bone-chilling as the look of hunger in Voldemort of House Slytherin's eyes.

"I will have his heart, woman. Do not think it otherwise. I will have him before me, on his knees, begging for my cock, begging for his _life_ and then I shall kill him. And I think I shall make you watch," Voldemort added as an afterthought.

McGonagall sneered. "You couldn't kill him if you tried."

"That slip of a boy?" Voldemort scoffed.

"Tom Marvolo, if you believed that the gods loved _you_ , oh, you've no _idea_ how much they love Harry Potter."

Voldemort slowly pulled his wand. The Order's soldiers follow suit, pulling sword and wand, at the ready. McGonagall hadn't flinched.

"There is no one more beloved than the Kingmaker, than the Dark Lord," Voldemort countered.

"Except the King," McGonagall retorted.

"Do not test me, woman. Tell me where he is or someone shall pay the price," Voldemort warned and McGonagall stared back at him, her lips pressed into a grim line.

"Come and kill me, then," McGonagall challenged.

Voldemort smiled. It was in that moment that he looked most like his twin sister.

"It shan't be you that pays that price, I'm afraid."

With those words, Voldemort turned towards the inn and smiled. A burst of white light emerged from his wand. The inn exploded and crumbled in on itself. Voldemort's grin widened when he spotted the horror-struck expression on Minerva's face and the men that accompanied her.

" _PROTEGO MAXIMA!_ " she shouted and Voldemort watched as the men around her, began to cast Watering Charms, putting out the flames.

His smile faltered as he saw the Shield Charm flickering in and out in the middle of the destruction. More fucking _wizards_ in fucking Muggle towns. His only pleasure was found in the fact that the fire was uncontrollable, catching on cottages and villages next door. Madame McGonagall watched in horror as a man engulfed in flames rank from his cottage, his flesh bubbling from the intense heat. She turned away and glowered at Voldemort.

The black smoke rose into the air and colored the day grey.

She looked back to Voldemort and he looked like a giant shadow. Voldemort stared at her darkly, sweat beading on his forehead, but otherwise untouched by the heat of the flames. Voldemort looked over his shoulder at his Knights. He nodded. McGonagall frowned as the Death Eaters dismounted and rushed towards the flaming homes, dragging out _children_ , of all things.

"Tell your sweet little prince that I did this because of him. Tell him that I shall burn this empire to ashes and when I am done, I will break him. I will make the silly boy bleed and I shall drink his blood like it's the nectar of the gods and I will crush his bones to powder. I will make him _scream_ for mercy, and I shall never give it to him," Voldemort promised.

McGonagall faltered, staring, wide-eyed. He was _lying_.

"No. You won't," she murmured as she walked backwards, raising her wand to put out the flames. "Soldiers, put out the flames! Save every living being! Any of the injured, we take back to camp."

Voldemort sneered as she waded deeper into the flames.

As she turned away, his words echoed after her. " _I WILL FIND HIM!_ "

:::

 **A/N:** I hope you liked this chapter! I like this chapter. It was really, really fun to write. I made Voldemort a little more of a monster in this version. I'm not sorry. Narcissa is also more of a monster and far smarter than in the last incarnation. Anyway, there was some GoT stuff up in there. Hope you caught it. The obvious ones: 'Kill the boy...'. But, I put some more lowkey ones. It was fun to weave in.

Anyway, I've outlined the next chapter but, that probably won't be out for another couple of days, maybe a week because I really want to be a few chapters ahead so I can start publishing weekly instead of one weird random days.

Please REVIEW.

Reviews give me strength and literally make me write faster.


	10. Chapter Eight

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : Whoa. Another really long chapter but, not quite as long as last chapter.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Eight

Hermione's face was like stone. She ignored the weeping court in favor of watching the procession. Warden Andromeda and Princess Narcissa walked arm in arm, clothed in black. Andromeda looked severe in velvet and chainmail, not a hint of skin showing except her hands and her face. Narcissa's face was pink, eyes glistening with tears, leaning heavily on her sister. Hermione tried hard to focus as the Death Eaters paraded in, and the Aurors, lining the wall and drawing their swords and wands.

They raised their swords, creating an archway, and crossed their wands over their chests. Hermione's brow furrowed.

"My Lady?"

The whisper jolted Hermione out of her thoughts. She looked at Luna from the corner of her eye. The young blonde woman was staring at her with wide eyes. She had been trying to catch Hermione's attention for a few long minutes. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against Hermione's ear.

"You must pay attention. He will be entering soon."

Hermione nodded, absently. She looked at Narcissa. Narcissa's stare connected with her own and there was a flash of disdain and disgust in those icy blue depths. A second later, the look of loathing disappeared and Narcissa let out a quiet sniffle once more. She put on a mask of being strong and pasted a proud, strong smile on her face. She couldn't weep at her own son's first showing as Emperor.

"Presenting His Imperial Majesty, King Draco, of House Malfoy and Slytherin, Emperor of the Four Directions of the Albion Empire, and Lord of Hogwarts."

There was utter silence except for the rustling of skirts and robes as everyone fell into subservient bows and curtseys. Hermione stared up through her eyelashes as she fell into a curtsey of false reverence. The only other sound was the echo of leather hitting stone. The footsteps grew louder until only silence. Hermione's eyes widened when she saw the finely made leather boots. She looked up, slowly, and stared into his cruel, gray eyes.

He reached out, grabbing her by her chin, tilting her head up.

"You will only show reverence to me. Your king," the King barked.

Hermione nodded swiftly, sinking into an even lower curtsey until she was nearly on her knees.

"Your Grace…" she whispered and the King nodded at her.

He continued on, walking down the blood-stained white carpet, still red from the Fabian and Gideon Prewett. She wondered how many people's blood had been spilled in the name of 'justice'. She knew it was far too many.

Hermione looked back up and watched Draco's back as he ascended the stairs. He spun, his robes swinging dramatically and Hermione cringed at the expression on his face. She had seen it many, many times before, from men and women, most notably Lady Zabini. She had only seen it once directed at her. It seemed like years ago but, it had only been weeks.

Draco's face was twisted into a mask of greed. He had looked at her like that at the masque ball and in hindsight, Hermione knew that look and her answering smile had sealed her fate. She cursed Fleur for making her go. She hated Fleur as much as she loved and missed her. Fleur had been her friend, no matter how beautiful and she had been.

Draco's fingers dug into the armrests of the Gilded Throne. He reclined back, the grin of a child upon his face. Hermione looked away from the boy-king. He wore glistening jewels and robes lined with fur, fit for a king but, he was no king. Just a boy. A boy who had been placed upon the throne in hopes that he could rule better than his mad aunt. No, he was just as mad. He was a mad, selfish, little boy.

Narcissa's face was still in her mask of pride and grief. But, Hermione was not stupid. She could read the triumph in her eyes. It was the most expression that Hermione had seen from the woman in the entirety of her stay in Hogwarts Castle, barring the moment that Narcissa had screamed that her sister was dead. Hermione could still remember the expression of hurt, grief, fury, and madness as she sobbed over her sister's dead body.

But, now Narcissa was empty, made of impenetrable crystal. Hermione knew that she held no compassion for the country that her son would turn to ash.

Hermione turned away and she began to mourn the death of an empire that was not her own.

 **MIRROR, MIRROR**

"Why do you...dress like that?"

Tonks looked up from her book and blinked in her surprise. Her surprise turned into confusion and Harry flushed in embarrassment. He gestured vaguely to the older woman's clothing before going back to practicing the Levitation Charm that McGonagall had assigned him. Tonks was there to supervise but, she was always more like a friend than a teacher.

Tonks looked down at her clothing. She wore a low cut green dress and her breasts were struggling to get free from the tight bodice. She was wearing her red cloak again and her hair was short and bright pink once more. Tonks looked back up and lifted her robe. She sniffed at it, wondering if the smell was the problem.

"Why do you dress like...like a working woman?"

Tonks hummed.

"Oh. That. Why do I dress like a whore, Harry?" Tonks clarified, amused. Harry turned a brighter red and turned away, mortified.

"You know what...never mind. Forget...forget I asked.

Tonks snickered. "Too late, Harry."

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," Harry said, flushing at her teasing. He focused on the levitating block of wood. Even as Tonks playfully shoved at him, he focused hard.

"Harry...I dress like a whore because I _am_ a whore."

Harry looked up, sharply, his curiosity getting the better of him. The block of wood fell down to the table with a clatter. Tonks grinned at him now that she held his attention. She leaned forward, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. Harry leaned into her and wondered if this was what it was like to have an older sister.

"Why are you a whore?" Harry asked, still red.

"Harry, do you know how _talkative_ nobles are when they're in the middle of an orgasm?" Tonks laughed and Harry clapped his hands to his face at Tonks' vulgar talk.

He felt like his face was going to burn off. The woman just burst into a fresh round of giggles and she pressed Harry's head against her ample bosom, uncaring that his face was squished into her breasts. Harry struggled against her and Tonks finally released him so that she could see his tomato-red face.

"You...you're okay with that? Sleeping with nobles to get information out of them?" Harry whispered. Tonks nodded, moving to sit on the table next to his block of wood, staring down at him.

"Why not? The Order needs the information and nobles will say anything for a quick fuck. Sexually repressed bastards that they are. And I'm not ashamed of my sexuality. I do everything on my own terms. The woman that raised me...was a powerful witch that controlled her sexuality so greatly that she controlled men," Tonks said so firmly that Harry couldn't doubt her. He leaned forward and she pulled his head into her lap, petting his hair gently. Harry relaxed, cushioning his head on folded arms.

"What made you join the Order?"

Tonks froze at the question, a glazed look entering her eyes. She looked as if she were in a different world. Harry was instantly aware that that was the wrong question to ask. He bit his teeth, worried that Tonks would leave him. He hated sitting alone. He knew that many of the Order thought that he was too...princely or young or green to speak to. The only blushed and stared or bowed or dismissed him entirely.

Tonks and Ginny, and even Ron were different. They looked at him like he was a person.

Only Remus didn't seem to even be able to look at him…

"They took away my family. The Slytherins."

Harry froze and he looked up at the woman. Her hair was no longer pink, but now a mousy brown. He hadn't even seen her pull her wand or use it. She looked smaller without the violent shade of pink. It transformed her entire face. Instead of looking like the pretty woman with a heart-shaped face that Harry knew, Tonks looked tired and older than her twenty-nine years.

"They...they took your family? Why?" Harry whispered.

Tonks frowned. "They killed my father because he was a _Mudblood_. They took my mother because...because she was so much more than that. They took my mother and locked her away."

Harry shook his head and leaned forward, confused. Tonks' story was odd. Harry knew that Voldemort was a sadistic, destructive bastard, but she also knew that he _never_ took prisoners. When he was younger, he had raided villages just for the spot of it, pillaging it and murdering people. So, Harry wondered what made Tonks' mother so special.

"Why? Why did they lock her away?"

Tonks' eyes flashed. "Because she _loved_. And her brother...my _uncle_ didn't like it," she hissed, sibilant and strange.

"And... _who_ was your uncle?"

Tonks stiffened under Harry's piercing gaze. Tonks slipped down from her perch onto the table back in her chair. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Harry's. She placed her own hand on Harry's neck and gave a sad smile. Harry almost jerked back, unsettled by the look on her face. Tonks was never sad.

Tonks was clumsy and vulgar and fun but, never... _sad._

"My uncle has many names. But, we called him the Dark Lord."

 **ON THE WALL**

The Warden sat in her armchair, staring without seeing. She ignored her household bustling around her, attempting to straighten up her when there was nothing _to_ straighten. Andromeda didn't sleep in her bed—she only claimed her rooms to cause _Tom_ discomfort. Andromeda slept in a tent with her household or sat on her balcony and stared out onto the eternally summer orchards.

"Lady Warden...Lady Hermione Granger is here at your request."

Andromeda looked up at the odd little girl that followed Hermione like a shadow. She unsettled Andromeda, with her large pale eyes that reminded her of Helena and the feeling that she knew far more than she should. The girl stepped to the side and Andromeda looked at the future Queen Consort of Albion.

"Your Grace," Lady Granger said.

Andromeda frowned. The Lady Granger had the saddest brown eyes that Andromeda had ever seen, full of regret and longing. Andromeda could appreciate that and sympathize. She felt that same longing...a longing for freedom from the damn prison that her brother had locked her away in.

Andromeda gave a transparent smile. "Ah, Lady Hermione Granger. Come, come sit down."

The young woman was hesitant as she sat down in the chair across from Andromeda's. Hermione Granger looked over her shoulder and gave the young servant girl a translucent smile of her own. Andromeda knew what pain looked like.

"Luna, please bring us tea and scones with jam. I've heard the Warden likes boysenberry," Lady Granger said. Andromeda looked at her, impressed. She had done her research.

Andromeda turned her gaze out onto the orchards and looked past the beauty, into the Forbidden Forest. The Western Way was not far, and then the bridge across the Narrow Sea to Western Country. How Andromeda missed her home. She turned her eyes back onto the young Lady Granger.

"You treat your maid well."

Lady Granger smiled sadly.

"I was a maid. Once upon a time."

Andromeda frowned. "How so, Lady Granger?" she asked.

Hermione grimaced. "Please, your Grace, I've never been known as that title. Hermione will do, if it pleases you. Or at least, please consider my humble request."

Andromeda's frown deepened.

"You are of wealth and yet, you are not called your title. You treat your maid well as you were a maid, and yet, your stepmother is Lady Zabini. My shit of a nephew punches you in your face and you are in pain, and still you are defiant. You are a mess of contradictions, Hermione Granger," Andromeda said and Hermione winced. Andromeda's lips curled into a slow smile. "I like you."

Hermione gave a weak smile.

"My father was a Muggle merchant in the Gaul Republic. He became a wealthy trader over time, as he came across some magical goods from a foreign land. He traded with a prince, magical artifacts from a cave. Amulets and lamps. Even a flying carpet. He was known as the Master of Trade and held a position in the government. In the Republic, we used to allow all people to participate in government," Hermione said, ruefully.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. "Used to?"

"Well...creatures are being treated as if they were second-class citizens. I wanted...before I was brought here, I wanted to change that. Follow in my father's footsteps," Hermione said. She looked far away. "But, that's neither here nor there. Now, my mother was a commoner. A Muggle. When I was four, she died of an illness. My father struggled with the grief. So, when he found love in Lady Zabini, when I was thirteen annuals, I couldn't have been happier than _he_ could be happy."

Andromeda nodded. Her father had loved again and he had loved a witch. It was unheard of for a magical person to marry a lowly Muggle. Muggles married Muggles and Mudbloods married Mudbloods. That's what her father had said though, Andromeda had always thought her father was full of shit, anyway.

"So...he married Lady Zabini," Andromeda murmured. Hermione nodded in confirmation.

"Yes. He married the Lady Zabini and she brought with her a son. At first, they were kind to me. Wonderful, even. I grew to love my stepfamily. But...one day...my father passed away, unexpectedly. One night, he simply didn't wake up and everything changed. From that day on, I was their slave and I no longer loved them," Hermione whispered, her voice cracking with the grief that she had painstakingly hidden so well.

Andromeda stared at the young woman, an apathetic mask on her face. Hermione did not seem to mind that Andromeda was not offering her sympathies or condolences. She didn't seem to notice when Luna returned with tea and scones. She didn't seem to notice when Andromeda waved her wand, pouring tea for them both. Hermione simply stared out over the orchards, a contemplative look on her face.

"The abuse continued for years. I almost had to suffer it alone but there...there was this one girl. This beautiful girl who wanted to help me all the time. She made my stepmother's dresses. Her name was Fleur. She knew I worked hard so she made me have fun with her even when all I wanted to do was read. When Fleur received an invitation from a customer to the masque ball hosted in Prince Draco's honor, Fleur forced me to go even though I was expressly forbidden from going. And then...I was forced to come here," Hermione finished and she burned with hatred, her chocolate brown eyes darkening until they were nearly black.

"My nephew is really a cunt, isn't he?" Andromeda barked. Hermione gaped, letting out a choked laugh. Andromeda didn't laugh. "He's keeping you a prisoner.

Hermione looked at her, eyes flinty. "You're a prisoner here, as well...aren't you?"

Andromeda's eyes widened and she looked at Hermione, scrutiny in her eyes. Hermione squirmed under her gaze. She hummed but did not answer. She simply waved her hand at the tea spread in front of them.

"Your tea is cold, my dear. Drink it up."

Hermione took a sip of the tea and grimaced. It was cold and bitter. It was nothing like the tea from home. Tea from home was earthy and rich.

"I'd prefer not to, your Grace," Hermione said definitively.

Andromeda gave a laugh that sounded brittle and entirely too sad to be real.

"Not to your tastes, then?"

"Not at all."

Andromeda's face smoothed into satisfaction and she focused on Colette. She looked around and nodded to herself when she only saw maids from her own household except for Luna. Her maids were trustworthy. Andromeda pursed her lips and looked at Hermione.

"Is your maid trustworthy?"

Hermione blinked.

"I would trust her with my life," she said, immediately. Luna beamed. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

Andromeda ignored the question and relaxed in her seat, cracking her neck. She pushed aside the grief, exchanging it for hard eyes.

"You're headstrong, smart, and pretty."

Hermione looked stunned and she smiled, flattered. "Thank you."

Andromeda's eyes narrowed.

"That makes you a threat."

Hermione's expression flickered from flattered to suspicious. She leaned forward, drinking her bitter cold tea, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I'm sorry?"

"Narcissa views you as a threat."

Hermione leaned back, surprised again. "Narcissa?"

Andromeda gave a cold, hard laugh, full of rage. Hermione was suddenly struck by the fact that this was a very angry woman that had been cultivating her rage for decades. This was a woman that called for vengeance.

"You will be Queen one day, and the people—the Muggles, the lower witches, and wizards, the creatures. They will like you. You're likable. The King is not. Don't think that that stupid, power-hungry little boy simply came upon that throne by accident. Bellatrix waited for that throne for _decades_ before she got it. She would not let it go so easily. Narcissa murdered my sister for that throne," Andromeda snarled and Hermione gasped, shaking her head in disbelief.

So, Andromeda believed it too.

"Do you really think she's capable of such a thing as _kinslaying_?" Hermione demanded. She needed to hear it. She needed to be _sure_.

"I know my family. We're _all_ capable of kinslaying," Andromeda bit out. "Narcissa is vindictive with a heart of stain. She cares only for her son and the approval of our brother."

The word 'brother' was ridden with derision and loss.

"Why your brother?"

"Why not?" Andromeda retorted.

Hermione's upper lip curled into a sneer. "He's a vile human being. And he's mad."

"Shut up," Andromeda barked. Hermione jumped and the Warden's expression softened. "My brother is complicated. He is a genius. He's also cruel and vindictive. Evil, even. But don't ever mistake those characteristics for being _mad_. My brother is _anything_ but insane."

Hermione hummed in contemplation.

"You hate your brother. I know you do. I see the way you look at him," Hermione said, softly.

Andromeda smiled, grimly.

"Aye, I do. But, he is still my brother," Andromeda said. She looked out to the forest and took a sip of her teeth, grimacing. It was cold. Carefully, she lifted her wand, waving it and casting a Warming Charm on the pot and the two teacups. "Narcissa. Since we were young, all she spoke of was our brother. It was different from Bellatrix's fascination with him. He was Bellatrix's center, her sanity. And she lusted for him. Loved him like a woman loves someone.

Hermione winced. "W-what?"

Andromeda nodded, lips pursed. "Yes. But, Narcissa didn't want him to love her as Bellatrix did. She wanted to be him. She always tried to get his attention. And she had it, for a while. And then Helena died and he disregarded her. He favored Bellatrix in spite of her madness."

Hermione bit her lip, caught between pity for Bellatrix's lost sanity and confusion about the inter-family politics that she was being forced to marry into.

"Why? Did he lust for her too?"

Andromeda laughed, loudly. This was a different laugh. She genuinely found Hermione's question _funny_.

"No. Bellatrix's happiness, her sanity, meant something to my brother. Putting her upon the throne was a way to keep her sane, to keep her from slowly destroying herself, to control her. It gave a face to the destruction that my brother wrought, and it kept her safe and bound to the family. And we _are_ a family. A family of blood. And blood is everything."

Hermione frowned.

"I've never…"

"You wouldn't have," Andromeda said, grimly. "My mother and father believed in the old gods. The same ones as the Tabooed believed in, so they never spoke a word. But, the gods are gods of blood. Blood is sacred and family is everything to a Slytherin. _That_ is where Narcissa has made her fatal mistake. Kinslaying is the ultimate betrayal. And to my brother...blood is all."

 **WHOM**

Hermione's head was still spinning from her conversation with Andromeda the night before. This family was full of secrets and kinslayers, users of the Darkest Arts. Hermione was in danger and she didn't even have her wand to defend herself. All she had were her wits, and that would have to be enough to get her through this ordeal. She stepped back as the court dipped their heads at her, brushing against the golden skirts that fanned out from her waist. She ignored their curtseys and their simpering and their coaxing; she saw the envy in their eyes.

They wouldn't envy her if they saw the bruises on her neck. Draco had caught her outside of her rooms, walking back from Andromeda. She could still feel his fingers wrapped around her neck.

She lifted her chin in defiance, hoping that there was a hint of purple left after Luna had healed her as best she could with the bruise removal paste.

"My Lady?" Luna whispered. Hermione nodded at Luna and Luna crept forward, reluctant. "My Lady...the green-eyed man is staring at you."

Hermione whipped her head so fast that she felt her neck crack and she froze. She squirmed, like a trapped mouse. She had nearly forgotten that wicked smile. He was still tall and handsome, with dark skin, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes. Hermione swallowed and swiftly composed herself. She was at court.

"My stepbrother," Hermione said, as calmly as she could.

The Lady Granger turned her gaze onto the green-eyed man. He stared back. Blaise Zabini seemed to have taken it as an invitation and he sauntered over to her, uncaring that everyone stared as he approached the future Queen Consort.

"Hermione, darling sister," Blaise cooed, wrapping an arm around Hermione's waist. He jerked her forward, pressing two kisses to her cheeks. Hermione jerked back.

"Brother," Hermione said flatly.

Blaise pulled away and rewarded her with a wide smile. He reveled in the whispers. He clapped his hands together and grinned. His eyes were still so very cruel. Hermione closed her own eyes, resisting the urge to sigh in exasperation and annoyance. She was so _tired_ of men's shit.

"I have _missed_ you. Have you sent word to Mother?" Blaise asked.

"I had no idea that your mother wanted to say _anything_ to me," Hermione murmured. When she tried to turn away from her stepbrother, he grabbed her hand and squeezed.

It was a warning. That had always been his warning. _Be still_. Hermione looked up at Draco on the throne but, he was smiling warmly at Blaise. He had warmed to her stepbrother at the masque ball and Hermione knew they had been exchanging letters since she had arrived. So, Blaise was the king's favorite. How _wonderful_.

" _Our_ mother is worried about you. You should write her. I know she'd like to hear about wedding plans."

The agenda at hand. Hermione restrained her knowing smile. She nodded and slowly stepped away from Blaise. Blaise had not given a damn about Albion until Draco had chosen her. And now Draco was a king and an emperor. The Zabinis were social-climbers at best.

The minute she married Draco, she would be 'of age'. Her father's fortune would belong to the Empire and Draco seemed the type to reward loyalty in gold.

"I will do just that," Hermione said, flatly. Blaise nodded.

"As you should. Now, if there's anything you need for comfort, ask. The King has chosen to confide in me and I find that we have become fast friends through letters. Now, that I'm here, I shall be able to help you more," Blaise said, false smiles.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "My wand?"

"Things within reason, my dear _sister_ ," Blaise said. So condescending. Hermione ground her teeth together. "Now, I must go settle into my rooms. The King and I have much to do afterward. Enjoy your fineries and food, sister."

He sauntered away. Hermione's fingers clenched into fists, crescent nails digging into her palms and drawing blood. She ignored the sluggish blood welling from the self-inflicted wounds and wiped it on the skirts of her dress. She turned towards the King and approached, falling into reverence.

"Your Grace, please grant me leave. I have found myself tired and ill," Hermione whispered.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Women's dispositions are so weak. Go, then."

Hermione rose and looked over at Narcissa, standing at her son's side. Her eyes were cold. Hermione turned her back on the pair of them, beckoning sharply to Luna. Luna followed her. Hermione walked along the Great Hall, ignoring the way the lords and ladies of the court stared at her. Their gazes condemned her, made her feel filthy.

"Please, draw me a bath," Hermione whispered.

"Of course, my Lady."

In silence, they ascended the grand, shifting staircases. When Hermione had first arrived, she had been fascinated and bewildered by the staircases. She had wanted to find the library and read about them. Draco had quickly realized how much she liked to read and had restricted that. He thought a lady, a queen, should look pretty and be silent and know nothing. It was so strange; his mother was probably one of the smartest people that Hermione had ever encountered and Draco had such an archaic way of thinking.

They entered Hermione's rooms. Hermione shivered. The sitting area was cold and stately, and led into her bedroom. The room was large, with a soft bed, and blankets but, the floors were stone. It was elegant but, Hermione missed her old room of softwood and a lumpy, straw stuffed mattress. This was not her home.

Hermione followed Luna into the bathing room. Luna pulled her wand.

"Can...can I do it?" Hermione begged.

Luna smiled. "Always, my Lady," she said, offering her wand to Hermione.

It was beautifully made from a warm wood. It was long and the end was an unbloomed tulip. It didn't feel right, not like Hermione's wand. It was shorter than hers and it wasn't light, like vinewood wand. Even the core felt a little different. So, probably not dragon heartstring. But, still, she felt her magic vibrate and rejoice.

" _Aguamenti_ ," she said and Hermione gasped in delight as an enormous gush of water spouted from the wand into the porcelain tub. It was like a geyser, never ending and Hermione giggled as she felt her magic stir. She wiggled the wand, complicated, and the water began to steam.

"You can do non-verbal magic," Luna said in wonder.

Hermione looked up with a smile. Hermione nodded, reaching for oils and soaps to pour into the hot bath. When she stood, Luna began to unlace the tight stays on her dress, letting it spill to the ground, and finally, Hermione could _breathe_ again.

"At home, I was in charge of the cooking, cleaning, gardening. Nearly everything. Learning magic, especially nonverbal magic, became a necessity," Hermione said. She relished in doing something for herself. The callouses on her hands were wearing away. She looked in the mirror and didn't recognize herself. It hurts. "I miss home."

Luna continued to pull and jerk at the corset, pulling it off of Hermione's body.

"I miss my home as well, my Lady," Luna said.

Hermione grimaced. "Please, Luna. It's Hermione. I've never been a Lady. I'm _not_ a Lady."

"Sorry...Hermione."

Hermione stared into Luna's owlishly pale eyes. There was so much wisdom there. Luna's lips twitching into a smile.

"Where did you live?" Hermione asked.

"In the City-States," Luna said. She ignored Hermione's surprise, helping the Lady into the bath. "Before they were Free, when they were just free, and run by their magical congress. I lived on the largest island. With my mother and father. My family had been there for generations, you must understand. My mother did not take kindly to outsiders from Alfheim and refugees from Albion coming to take over and establish a monarchy. Fleeing from the Tabooed to come here. Colonists, she called them," Luna said, softly.

Hermione leaned forward, intrigued. "Your mother…"

"My mother was a powerful leader with a bloodline that is over a thousand years. We were tied to things of fire. We worshipped them. We served them. We believed in the same gods as the centaurs and the goblins and the nymphs and the sylphs and the Veelas," Luna explained as she sat on the stool next to the tub, lifting her wand. She whispered. " _Augamenti_."

Hermione winced as the frigid water hit her scalp and the back of her neck, soaking her.

"Your mother wasn't human," Hermione said.

Luna's eyes flashed. "No. She was a descendant of the Fae. Fire called to her."

"Like the Dtrwies," Hermione murmured. "My friends...from home. They are Veela. They worship the Dtrwies goddesses. Maiden for water. Mother for fire. Crone for earth. And Death is like the air, whistling in your ear but you cannot see."

"Aye like the Dtrwies," Luna agreed. "My mother did not take well to witches and wizards coming in and taking over. And so, she put them to sleep for 100 years."

"100 years?" Hermione whispered. "But, you aren't…"

"No. This happened before I was born," Luna said, gently as she began to scrub soaps and oils into Hermione's hair, cleaning it of the day's strife. "Now, my mother wandered the islands with her people as the Tabooed reigned here in Albion and one day, she came upon a sleeping man that she thought was beautiful. My father. He woke her. They had me, and he convinced her that the people had learned their lessons and it was time for them to walk again. When she woke them, they rebelled immediately and took my family. They killed my mother and father and were going to burn me at the stake. This was just after Princess Lily had been slain."

Hermione knew how the story ended.

"The Dark Lord saved you."

"Aye," Luna said. "He had heard that the people had been raised again, and he had come to begin trade. To establish alliances before they learned what terrible things he had done. He saw me tied to a stake and he saved me from being burned. My mother was of the Fae but, I am far too removed."

"Why?" Hermione whispered. "Why did he save you?"

She sputtered when Luna dumped water over her head, the suds sliding down in the hot bathwater.

Luna was staring, far away. "He said...he said that he knew my mother and respected her greatly. That she had shown him great things. I do not doubt it. My mother loved me and I loved her but, she did great and terrible things. She battled on behalf of the Tabooed, you know. She fought alongside Morgin against Queen Helga for Afallon. They say Morgin rode winged lizards. _Dragons_."

Hermione's eyes widened and she leaned forward.

"Dragons are extinct," she protested.

Luna smiled and nodded. "Aye. The Founders had them slain after the devastation Morgin rained on her people."

"Is Afallon the West? Queen Helga ruled over the West, right?" Hermione asked. She would find out more about this country. She had read, countless things, but never about Albion, and now, she didn't have books to arm herself with. Just cleverness and wit and a very knowledgeable maid.

"Yes. Queen Helga was one of the former Queens. There were two kings and two queens. They were the closest of friends and they reunited the countries into the Albion Empire after the long struggle between Morgin, Ambrose, Medraut, and Orcate," Luna said. She pulled Hermione's hair back and began to pull a large comb through it. "Merlin once ruled over all of them but, the Tabooed squandered it."

Hermione tilted her head, grunting as Luna came across a particularly hard knot. Hermione hated not knowing things. When someone knew that she was unaware, they used their knowledge over her to make her feel inferior. She was so tired of being made to feel inferior.

"And Queen Helga ruled the West."

Luna nodded, sagely. "Queen Helga of House Hufflepuff ruled the West," she confirmed. "They called her the Mother because she had no children but, fostered the entirety of the empire. Have you finished washing your body?"

Hermione nodded and stood from her bath. Hermione was not ashamed of her body. She was unashamed of her scars and the gauntness of her face and the way her skin stretched tight over her bones. One could count every single rib if they wanted to. But, she was proud. She was a survivor. Luna Summoned her dressing gown and held it open for her. Hermione tied it shut.

"What of the others?" Hermione asked as she walked back into her bedroom and sat down at her vanity. Luna settled behind her and began to comb again.

"There was Queen Rowena of House Ravenclaw. She ruled over Essetir. The East. She was known for her wit and strategic genius. She had a child. Her name was Helena and was said to be beautiful. More beautiful than the Dark Lord and Bellatrix. She was blind. She was sweet, gentle, and kind. Then...on the day of her fifteen annual, she disappeared. They found her blood spilled upon the snow and her corpse in a shallow grave. Her heart had been ripped from her chest," Luna said, voice so calm.

Hermione's eyes widened in horror and she wondered who could have done something to a _blind_ girl. She knew who. Princess Lily had died the same way. The thought made bile rise in her throat. She would have to live with a man that had done such horrible things. She'd rather spit at him than look upon his face, and she knew that was a one-way ticket to the Cruciatus Curse. It was a foolish thought.

"Then?" Hermione asked. She knew what was next.

She had always been more interested in creatures' rights, reading essays and legislation about it in the Republic. She had wanted to make a difference. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was far more interested in Albion culture and history and fashion and had voraciously consumed any books Hermione could find for her. Hermione could remember all the times Gabrielle Delacour had regaled Hermione and Fleur with dramatized versions of Albion history.

"Then, there was the King Godric of House Gryffindor. He ruled over the South, Karnaron. He was brave and true, and one of the best swordsmen the world had ever seen. But, he was brash. He had Lily. You know that story," Luna said, her expression grim. Hermione looked down at her lap.

She had read all about Princess Lily and Mortem Phoenix. Everyone had.

"I do," Hermione said, solemnly as Luna weaved her hair into a wet braid, taming her mess of curls.

"Then, the King of the North. King Salazar of House Slytherin. He had four children. Bellatrix and her twin, Tom Marvolo. Andromeda. And Narcissa. And they were all beautiful. But, the twins were vain. Selfish. My mother showed them darkness, and they embraced it. And their darkness led to this civil war that we are trapped in. Led to the deaths of many."

Hermione's gaze hardened as she looked up at her maid.

"Andromeda said that Narcissa killed Bellatrix. For her brother's favor."

"I have no doubt that she did," Luna said, uncharacteristically cold. She turned from Hermione's finished braid and walked towards the window, staring out at the beautiful orchards. Hermione joined her, leaning into her side.

"You knew?" Hermione asked.

"The nargles told me their suspicions. But, now I know for sure. No one knows Narcissa like her own family. No one knows the Slytherins like the Slytherins," Luna said, simply and Hermione winced against Luna's mention of the imaginary creatures.

"What should I do, Luna?" Hermione whispered. Luna looked over at her with a slight smile.

"Send the Dark Lord a letter telling him of what you learned," Luna suggested.

Hermione looked at her friend, appalled that Luna had even _recommended_ such a thing.

"And why would I do that? I hold no love for that man and the messenger is _always_ the one murdered," Hermione spat. "He knows what his nephew does to me. He allowed the people of this empire to live through a terrible war, to suffer deaths. He's killed some of them himself. They host public executions every year to instill fear in their terrified subjects!"

Luna gave a giggle and shook her head as if Hermione was the one being foolish. Hermione felt a flash of fury and she crossed her arms, snarling. Luna sobered.

"The Dark Lord isn't a good man. But, I owe him a life debt. He saved me from being burned in the City-States and gave me a place here. He said that he would not watch a child be punished for the mistakes of their parents. He doesn't kill children, you know. Not Muggle children. Not Muggleborns. Not half-bloods. Not purebloods. He's not a good man, you're right. But, with this one thing, I trust him. The Slytherins always protect their own...even from each other."

 **IS FAIREST**

"We rest here."

Immediately, Severus jerked his horse to a stop and dismounted, his thighs sorer than they had been in literal years. He looked around the small clearing with approval. His Lord had found the perfect spot. The clearing was nice, with an existing fire pit. It must have been an old centaur ground, long deserted from the looks of how overgrown the grass was and the state of the fire pit.

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius murmured as he dismounted. He immediately raised his wand, assembling his own tent.

Severus pursed his lips. He usually argued about how unnecessary they were until their Lord relented. He had not tried this time. His Lord was riled up about the Fairest. Severus wondered briefly what it was about the beautiful boy that made the Dark Lord want to kill her so much. The boy was only a pretty face, like his mother. Though, Severus saw things of his father in him-the messy black hair. Merlin forbid that he inherited anything else from the insufferable James Potter.

"What is it that clutters your mind, Severus?"

Severus looked up from his well-constructed tent and turned the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord looked up at him from where he sat, cross-legged in the grass. He looked calm and it put Severus ill at ease.

"The Fairest."

The Dark Lord's eyes flashed.

"What of him?" the Dark Lord asked, his voice steely. Severus sat down in front of his own tent, closest to the fire pit. He glanced over at Lucius who was tying the horses up.

Severus lifted his wand. " _Incendio_." A merry fire burst in the fire pit, immediately radiating with heat. "I was thinking upon why you wish him dead."

Voldemort hummed. "My reasons are my own."

"Of course, my Lord," Severus said immediately. He wouldn't question his Lord.

Severus didn't need to. Voldemort would tell him eventually. It was a rare event that he ever kept secrets from Severus. Severus was the Lord of Whispers. He knew everything.

Lucius finished tying the horses and pitching his tent. He walked over to them and sat cross-legged, forming a triangle around the fire. It was a comfortable silence and Lucius felt honored that his Lord felt so at ease around him. It felt like they were on a normal hunt as opposed to an assassination.

Lucius sighed. He had taken part in one of the most important events in history, and not only because he was Narcissa's lord-husband or a Death Eater. It was because the Lord Voldemort had found him competent. The blond sighed as he thought about his wife, and then his thoughts turned to Bellatrix. He remembered the night of the coronation very well.

The Founders had been slaughtered, the white carpet stained with red. Sirius Black had been tortured on that carpet and locked away to go mad in Azkaban. Lucius winced. To go through the trauma of the Cruciatus and then locked away in Azkaban to suffer at the hands of dementors. It was a fate he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. Mercy would've been if Sirius had died.

Queen Bellatrix the Beautiful had been crowned that night. The court called her the Mad Queen behind her back.

"My Lord, why did you seat Bellatrix upon the throne?" Lucius asked, suddenly. He boldly met the Dark Lord's crimson eyes. The Dark Lord gave him a mocking smile.

"What summons these sentimental memories to mind, Lucius?" Voldemort hissed, sounding very much like the snake he was and Severus briefly wondered where Nagini was.

"I'm not sure, my Lord. I have thought on this before, but I have now decided to ask," Lucius said, blasé in the way he spoke though careful not to offend.

"I see."

Severus leaned forward. "My Lord, may I speak freely?"

The Dark Lord tilted his head slowly. His face betrayed none of his emotions and it rarely did. The man's outburst at the coronation had been his first one in many, many years.

"You may," Voldemort finally said.

Severus elected to be blunt. "Your sister is not fit to rule Albion."

"I am aware," Voldemort drawled, amused.

Severus and Lucius exchanged looks of confusion.

"Then, why do you not rule, my Lord? You would be ten times the ruler Bellatrix could ever be. She is not...she is..." Lucius said, struggling with the words to describe the woman. He swallowed. "They call her the Mad Queen."

Voldemort smiled. "My sister...Bellatrix...is a fool. Blinded by delusions of grandeur. Her perception of this empire is of a child. She throws tantrums to receive what she wants and people give it to her. It is not _I_ who gives her power, but the people who bend the knee to her, and obey her will."

Severus stared in disbelief. He pulled his hand across his face, as if to wipe away his flickering emotions. The Dark Lord had pride in the fact that the Death Eaters could so easily control their emotions. In the presence of the Dark Lord, it was always harder to obey that particular aspect of their training.

"Then, _why_ , my Lord? Why put the empire in the hands of a _child_?" Lucius asked, nearly desperate.

The Dark Lord did not look either in the eye, in favor of staring out in the dark wood with a pensive expression. He laced his fingers together, one elbow on each knee and he leaned his chin upon his hands. They listened to the cracking of the fire and the noises of the night, waiting.

"My Lord?" Severus whispered.

Voldemort sighed. He turned a grim gaze upon his two most loyal. They were staring at him, like the children they were.

"Severus...Lucius. My sister holds no real power. She is a puppet and I am her master. I have always taken care of the important things. Since her assumption, we have not raided under my command. The court is satisfied. Our coffers are full. If Bellatrix wants to isolate creatures and Muggles and Mudbloods, fine. We are better anyway, and I am not focused on the now. My sister's madness is my responsibility and I hunt the Fairest to sate it. I have long kept this empire from crumbling under her reign. And I will continue to keep this empire together. Forever, we shall endure."

 **OF THEM**

Harry let out a heavy sigh, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. For a November afternoon, the sun beat hard. His leather trousers chafed his thighs and his tunic was soaked through. Ron was gasping himself, and he had far more endurance as a soldier than Harry did.

"You still want to go again?" Ron choked out, bent over, hands on his knees.

Harry nodded, pulling his tunic over his head. "Yeah," he said, lifting his sword again.

The flush of exertion went down from his cheeks, down his neck, to the top of his nipples. Ron's gaze chased it, his jaw unhinging. Harry ground his teeth and cleared his throat. Ron flushed and looked up at Harry, attempting to focus.

"Uh…" Ron started.

"Again," Harry snarled, moving forward and thrusting. Ron weakly lifted his sword, attempting to block but, Harry easily disarmed him. Harry pressed his sword against Ron's neck and tossed Ron's sword to the side. "Ron, what the _fuck_?"

"I'm sorry...I'm just…" Ron trailed off, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't even like guys."

Harry snarled in rage, tossing his sword down, pulling his soaked tunic over his head, and storming away. He ignored Ron calling after him and he ignored how he might be being a little childish. As he banged into the Burrow II, he realized that he had gone up the stairs and bypassed his room entirely. He leaned against the door and knocked.

"Tonks? Are you there?" he asked, desperately.

There was a beat of silence before there was a loud thump and someone cursed, loudly. Harry grinned. _Tonks_. Then, there was the giggle of a child and the door slowly creaked open. Harry peeked inside, curiously, and almost pulled his knife when he felt a hand wrap around his ankle. He looked down at Tonks, pink hair falling into her face, tangled in her own cloak.

"Uh, hello there," Harry said in between snickers.

Tonks glared up at him and she pushed the door open more, using the door and Harry's body to pull herself to her feet. She gave Harry another glare of contempt before turning a baleful gaze to the object on the floor. Harry winced at the gruesome sight.

"Is that...is that a _leg_? With cloaks hanging from it?" Harry demanded, choking over his words.

A light but deeper laugh sounded through the room. "It's a troll leg."

Harry looked up sharply at the older man on Tonks' bed, a young toddler that looked about three in his lap. The toddler had the oddest hair Harry had ever seen and he was friends with _Tonks_. The little boy had bright turquoise eyes and sweet eyes. His face was heart shaped, like Tonks, and his eyes were amber like Remus'. Harry's eyes widened.

"Mr. Lupin? Tonks? Is this your son?" Harry whispered.

Tonks winced, shaking her head. She didn't answer immediately. She moved towards the bed and bent over to kiss the little boy's forehead. She pulled him into her arms and he giggled, grinning up at her. She walked back towards Harry and the little boy stared at him, shy but curious.

"Harry, this is Teddy. Teddy...this is Harry."

Teddy leaned forward, his face screwed up. "Hawwy? Pwince Hawwy?"

Harry's lips twitched and he nodded. He held his hand out to Teddy and the little boy grabbed it with his chubby little hand.

"Yes, I'm Prince Harry. Nice to meet you."

Teddy grinned. "I is Teddy."

"I _am_ Teddy," Tonks corrected as she slid the toddler into Harry's arms. Harry stared down at Teddy like he was a bomb and Tonks laughed.

"I'll take him, if you wish, your Highness."

Harry looked over at Remus. The man was refusing to make eye contact with him. Harry sighed, moving towards the man who had been such good friends with his father and mother. Harry placed the toddler in Remus' lap. As soon as Teddy was free of him, the little one attempted to climb onto Remus' head. Harry laughed.

"Who is this child?" Harry asked.

Tonks turned and leaned, casually, against her wardrobe. She gave Teddy a fond smile. She sighed.

"Teddy. I found him after a raid when he was just a baby. He was abandoned...alone...and he was like me," Tonks said. Harry frowned.

"Like you?"

"Tonks is a Metamorphmagus," Remus supplied.

Harry looked between the two of them, bewildered. "A _what_?"

Tonks laughed. "I forget that you weren't raised like us. A Metamorphmagus is a witch or wizard that can change their outward appearance at will. Did you think my hair was naturally pink?"

Harry bit his lip, slightly embarrassed by it all. Tonks laughed and rolled her eyes as she adjusted her red cloak. She crossed over to Remus, wrapping her arms around him and Teddy. Remus stiffened within her embrace. Harry raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Thank you, Remus. I'll take Teddy now. Teddy, do you want to go for a walk in the camp and say hello? Do you want to see Hagrid and Charlie and the thestrals?" Tonks asked.

"Yes, yes, Dowa," Teddy laughed.

The two went, leaving Harry and Remus alone. Remus' eyes followed Tonks out the door before he looked to Harry. Remus began to stand when Harry shut the door, sharply. Remus looked at him, caught off guard.

"Mr. Lupin, you've been avoiding me and I don't know why," Harry said, flatly.

Remus looked away, embarrassed to be caught in his efforts to avoid the crown prince. Harry hummed.

"I have not, your Highness," Remus mumbled. Harry nearly smiled.

The man was an _awful_ liar.

"Stop," Harry snapped, his eyes flashing.

"What?" Remus asked, softly.

Harry's hands clenched into fists before he relaxed slowly, his hands falling to his sides uselessly. Remus looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Harry wasn't sure if that man was being condescending or not.

"Don't call me your Highness. I want to know why you're avoiding me. I haven't done _anything_ to you, Mr. Lupin, and you look at me as if I were a leper...a _freak_ , instead of the boy who you _begged_ to save you," Harry said, his voice trembling.

Remus looked at him how the Dursleys looked at him. Freak. Monster.

Harry was shaking. This man had been a best friend to his parents and it felt like his own parents were rejecting him. Or at least, his last personal connection to them. And it hurt.

"Yes, then. I'm avoiding you," Remus admitted, shamefaced.

" _Why_? Don't you...I have so much to ask you. I want to know about my parents. You're the only one that really knew them. I want to know what they like, what they disliked. What did my father's laugh sound like? What was my mother's favorite spell?" Harry listed and he shook more and more as the thoughts overwhelmed him. "I just... _why_?"

Remus took a step towards Harry and he brushed a black curl from the younger man's face. He had a sorrowful look. He looked much, much older than his actual age. The man was a man that had gone to war, thrice times over, had dragged himself through hell. Harry nearly regretted his question.

Remus sighed. "Because...you remind me of everything that I've loved and lost."

 **ALL?**

"Order meeting!" Ginny shouted as she raced through the camp, banging through to the Burrow.

Ron looked up from his duel with Harry and took a step back, shrugging. Harry looked around as Alastor Moody lumbered into the Burrow II, moving hard on his staff. Ron dropped his sword, sheathing it swiftly, and walked away. Harry followed after him, on his heels, and Ron grinned at him, throwing his arm around his shoulders.

"First Order meeting," Ron teased. Harry laughed, sheathing his own sword, and nodded as they walked up the stairs to the meeting room.

Harry peeked inside and saw Tonks' bright hair and the Weasley siblings, all clustered at the table together. Ron slipped inside and suddenly, Harry's view was blocked.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

Harry flushed as Mad-Eye Moody stared at me with that one bulging magical blue eye, twisting and turning to look everywhere. Harry swallowed hard.

"The...Order meeting," Harry said, slowly.

"You're not _in_ the Order," Moody said, firmly. "You've only just started using magic and the Order is for trained witches and wizards of the resistance."

Harry balked. "And you want me to lead the resistance."

"You're just a boy, still practicing the spells of an eleven-year-old," Moody retorted and Harry winced, flushing in embarrassment.

He looked over Moody's shoulder. Ron wasn't looking at him. Tonks was whispering harshly to McGonagall but, the woman was watching Harry and Moody with firm eyes. McKinnon and Vance looked smug, whispering to each other. Remus hadn't looked at him at all. Harry looked back at Moody's gnarled, scarred face and crossed his arms over his chest, holding himself together. His wand burned in its wand holster.

"If you taught me more, then I'd be able to help. I should be in there," Harry spat.

Moody grimaced and shook his head. "No. Go practice your charms. You can come back for supper in an hour or two," Moody said, condescendingly, backing into the room and shutting the door in Harry's face.

Harry's eyes and face burned and he wiped away at his eyes, willing himself not to cry. He turned his back and stormed away to his room, grabbing his cloak and whipping it around his shoulders. Harry moved towards the door and stopped, moving back to his bed and looping the ceremonial knife into his belt, alongside his sword. Harry pulled his hood up and flew down the stairs, barely closing the door behind him.

"Prince Harry, where ye off to?"

Harry looked over his shoulder and smiled weakly at Hagrid. He waved at him, trying to swallow his tears and humiliation. "I-it's just Harry. I-I'm just taking a walk around camp."

Hagrid beamed and nodded. "Yer full of good ideas, Harry. Just make sure not to get too close the wards."

Harry nodded and bent his head over, practically running through the camp, dodging the men and women carrying the day's hunt, the girls, and boys doing laundry or hefting hay or playing with wooden swords that would one day be steel. Harry moved towards the edge of wards, wishing nothing more than to disappear. The Order's stares burned at the edges of his brain.

Only Tonks had tried to fight for him.

Harry walked through the wards. He could feel them cling to him. They tried to pull him back but, he pushed past them, his body burning. The fire burned the sticky tendrils of the magic away from his body. As he passed through the heavy wards and protective charms and the Fidelius Charm, a sharp wind bit as his skin, bringing red to his cheeks and tip of his nose.

It was mid-November now but, the days had blurred together. He had been at the camp for at least two weeks if not more. He couldn't be sure between training or studying or speaking with Tonks. Tonks. His only defender.

She was the best company at the camp, barring Ginny and Ron. Ginny was a sweet girl, if quiet, and she was fierce. Probably more so on the battlefield. She could shoot an arrow without the slightest of hesitation. Ron boasted that she was the best markswoman in Albion. Harry could believe it.

And Ron...Ron was a piece of work, really. He seemed to always think with his cock and his ax. Ginny usually got on him for treating Harry like he was weak and it was less frequent than it had been before. But, sometimes, he slipped and Harry would kick his ass. Then, Ron's competitive streak came out and he fought back, making Harry train harder. But, he had looked away when Moody had humiliated him.

Harry slipped between the trees, looking up at the red and orange leaves that barely hung on. The colors were bright and rich like his fire. He smiled, spinning around and relishing in the cool air. This was nothing like Little Whinging, which was cold and wet on the best of days. In the South, it was cold but, everything was bright and vibrant. Everything felt _alive_.

Harry slipped between a gathering of trees and grinned at the clearing. It looked like his little clearing from home. He stooped over, grabbing a fistful of leaves and closed his eyes, throwing it in the air. He tilted his head back, letting the leaves fall over his face, ignoring how his hood slipped off his head. Then, the rustle of leaves. A snap of wood.

Harry stiffened and spun around. Green eyes narrowed, he searched, but he was faced with nothing but trees, tall and looming.

Harry relaxed ever so much when two hands seized him by his shoulders and spun him around. Harry gasped as he was slammed into a tree. The Prince stared up into crimson eyes and swallowed. Those red eyes were dark with lust, lips pulled into a smile.

"Hello, sweetling."

There wasn't anything arrogant in the way Voldemort held himself now. He wasn't there to flirt or to be made a fool of again. Harry's lips turned into a slow grim smile and he closed his eyes. He felt Voldemort moved so that one muscled forearm held Harry pinned to the tree by his neck. Gentle fingers brushed across Harry's eyelids, and Harry opened his eyes, revealing bright green. Green like the summer.

"Hello, Voldemort."

Voldemort leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, and he whispered, "Time to die."

:::

 **A/N:** So, here's the next chapter of FAIREST. These chapters are so fun to write. Just I'm loving it. I missed this story more than you.

Now, just a heads up: this story is carefully planned. I have three arcs planned out, and this particular arc should be drawing closed within the next 4 chapters or so. We've still got two more characters to meet so that we can get into the meat of the story, which is Arc Two. Arc One is completely plotted out. Totally outlined, so that'll be super easy to churn out. Arc Two is in the planning stages. That basically means that I have a list of main points that I need to hit but, I haven't outlined by chapter yet. Basically, what I'm saying, is that Arc One will be coming out fast and furious, and Arc Two will come but, just a little slower because I want to outline at least 5 chapters and write 2 full chapters.


	11. Chapter Nine

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : Okay, I have major beef in the Author's Note at the end of the chapter, in regard to a review made about Hermione's character, so stick out for that. (ALSO, I JUDGE ANYONE WHO SPEAKS BAD ABOUT SANSA STARK, WHICH IS WHO HERMIONE'S CHARACTER KINDA REPRESENTS SO GET READY FOR SOME REAL TALK, FEMINIST-STYLE)

Fairest

 **Chapter Nine**

"Hello, Voldemort."

They were so close together, breathing the same air.

"Time to die."

Harry looked up, shaking his head. Here they were again, in the same position, and here he was, pressed against a tree by the man who had killed his parents. For some strange reason, he could not strike him. Voldemort was captivating and, Harry had always been a curious boy.

Yet, he could not allow himself to die.

"I'm afraid...that it's not time, just yet," Harry whispered and he drove his knee into Voldemort's groin. The man let out a sharp yowl and he stumbled away, groaning.

Harry drew his sword and fell into the dueling stance, fearless. He was not afraid of the man before him, even if he was stronger, taller, and much more experienced than he. He knew he should be afraid, but he wasn't. Harry had Fire.

"Are you ready to fight me? Will you fight me, beautiful, beautiful Harry Potter?" Voldemort whispered and Harry looked at Voldemort from the shine of his leather boots to the burning pair of crimson eyes.

"If I must fight you to live, then I will."

Voldemort pulled Horcrux from its sheath and swung down hard. Harry dodged and he was shocked when the man pulled the sword up from the heavy blow he attempted to deliver. He thrust and Harry swung himself to the side, his cloak swirling around him. He used the momentum of his spin to slice at Voldemort.

Voldemort blocked, staring at Harry with an arched eyebrow.

"Just over two-and-a-half weeks and you're rather good. The Order is riding you hard," Voldemort said, mockingly. Harry flushed at the double entendre and glared at the man, kicking out with all his might.

Voldemort grunted when Harry's foot connected with his chest. He stumbled backward. Harry thrust with his sword and Voldemort stumbled back again to avoid the blow. Harry stumbled to regain his footing, too much momentum driving him forward. Voldemort swiftly disarmed him, Harry's sword flying away. Harry cried out as he twisted his ankle in a scrambled to get away. Before Harry could recover, Voldemort was suddenly towering over him with his sword held high above his head. Just as his sword began to descend, Harry pulled his wand.

" _Arresto Momentum_!"

The sword's descent slowed and Harry rolled out of the way. He darted for his sword and gasped when a bright green spell scorched the grass. Harry jerked his wand away and searched through his mind.

"You won't be able to best me, sweet—" Voldemort snarled.

" _Gravis_ ," Harry shouted, using the Heaviness Charm. Voldemort groaned as his weight doubled and his knees buckled. It was only an illusion that would last seconds but, it was enough for Harry to pull the knife from his belt and slash at the Dark Lord, just as the man uttered the countercharm.

Harry threw himself back as Voldemort's hand flashed out, intending on hitting him across the face.

Voldemort stared at him, vaguely impressed.

"I'm not just a pretty face, Voldemort."

Harry waited for Voldemort to move but, the man just stared at him, brushing his fingers across his chest. He came away with blood. Harry's blow had been a shallow wound but, a wound nonetheless.

"I've come to realize that," Voldemort said softly.

He slowly began to stalk towards him, a curious look on the Dark Lord's face. Harry swallowed, racking his brain for the Summoning Charm. It had been the newest Charm that he had learned and one of the more difficult ones. He'd stayed up all night to master it. It was...it was…

" _Accio_ sword," Harry called, and his sword flew into his hand.

Harry stood his ground and Voldemort came to a stop, surprised that Harry was no longer trying to get away.

"There's something about you, Lord Voldemort," Harry murmured.

Voldemort looked at Harry with suspicion and trepidation. Slowly, he lowered his wand, and Harry straightened from his crouch. He didn't sheathe his sword but instead used it as support. His ankle throbbed.

Harry nodded. "You need more than my death. Don't you?"

Voldemort's eyes glimmered. He stared at Harry, a starving man. Harry made a noise of distress in the back of his throat. Voldemort's eyes called for blood.

"More? You already know that," Voldemort said softly.

Harry swallowed. He knew this type of man. A man who wanted to be flattered. But, this was a dangerous game that he played and, he was no Tonks. He didn't know how to wield sexuality. He barely had any sexuality, untouched as he was.

"More. You want me...you want my heart...you want my power. You want much but, it's not what you need. What is it that you need, Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked and there was something different about the young prince.

Harry Potter's eyes burned. This was the same beautiful prince that Voldemort had wanted to break the moment he saw him. But, now, there was something ethereal, almost fragile, about him. But, still, the incredible resolve remained in the tension of his body.

It reminded Voldemort of here.

His first heart.

The first Fairest.

Helena.

 _What...is it that you need from me, Tom_?

Helena could not see his face but, he felt as if she had stared in his soul and passed eternal judgment. He had answered her honestly: her blood would forge an empire, eternal and beautiful.

 _Then it is yours._

Freely given. Helena had asked him a question and he could not bring himself to lie. Not to her when she was giving him her heart freely. Now, this boy was asking him the very same daunting question.

It brought back memories of drops of blood and whispered words. Memories long thought forgotten to the Pensieve, memories long thought lost. He remembered Rowena and her broken smile. He remembered the last time any of the Slytherins had prayed to the gods. When he looked down at his gloved hands, he could remember them still stained red.

"If you have so much knowledge, what is it that I need?" Voldemort challenged.

Harry sighed, "I do not know."

"Nor do I. But, I know what I want. I want your heart," Voldemort said coldly, laying his palm flat over Harry's chest. He closed his eyes. He could feel it beating; hard and fast. Harry Potter was not as calm as he pretended to be.

"But, it's not what you need."

Voldemort's crimson eyes flashed. "You don't know what I need," he snarled. "I will burn the heart of you. And as you lay dying, I will devour it from your chest as you watch."

Harry seemed unaffected by his words. He looked smug, proven right, and his lips curled into a triumphant smile.

"You want too much. You want me in too many ways. You want me in your bed, on my knees, on your dinner plate, in a grave. But, you need one thing. So, choose," Harry said, softly, calculating.

Voldemort bared his teeth.

"Shut up, you little shit."

Then, his lips were on Harry's, in a bruising kiss. Harry dropped his sword and looped one arm around the man's neck pulling him down, fingers tangling in the hair at the name of Voldemort's neck. Harry hummed as the Dark Lord's tongue slid into her mouth, tasting him, possessing him. Voldemort was everywhere, pressed against the lines of Harry's body.

With Harry's other hand, he slowly raised his knife, and he could taste salt. Was he crying? For this man or for himself? Harry let out a shuddering sob into Voldemort's mouth and sucked on his bottom lip, wrapping a leg around Voldemort's thigh, tangling his body with his. He pressed the knife against the back of Voldemort's neck.

Voldemort pulled his bottom lip with his teeth and shuddered, looking down at Harry.

"Don't even think about it, sweetling," Voldemort whispered, just for them to hear.

Harry froze when he felt Voldemort's wand pressed against his side. They stared at each other for a long moment and Harry swallowed.

"Please, don't kill me," he whispered, his voice cracking.

Voldemort raised a thumb, brushing away Harry's tears. He pressed the pad of his thumb to his tongue, tasting the Fairest's tears. They tasted like smoke and salt.

"You speak of what I want. What I need. Do you know what you need?" Voldemort whispered.

Harry closed his eyes, fighting back tears. Voldemort looked at him like he could read the code of his soul like he knew every single thought that Harry had ever thought. He swallowed. Harry could hear the phoenix lament.

"I need to not die," Harry said.

Voldemort tilted his head and leaned forward, kissing the space beneath Harry's ear. Harry shuddered, trembling from head to toe.

"Why?" Voldemort breathed as he moved to the other side of Harry's face, kissing underneath his other ear.

"Because that's what they need. I know what I want too," Harry confessed and he dragged Voldemort down again, kissing him hard and long.

Harry breathed heavily against Voldemort's mouth, sucking at Voldemort's lip, dragging his hands down the back of the man's neck, over broad shoulders. Guilt wrapped tight around his gut but, he clung to Voldemort as if he were the only solid thing in the world. So much had happened over the past two weeks; so much had changed. He had been humiliated and denied and called a whore. He had done all the things that were asked of him and had never wanted for one thing.

Harry had never asked for anything in his entire life.

But, Voldemort was his constant and Harry wanted more than anything than he'd ever wanted in his life.

Harry had no doubt that Voldemort wanted to fuck him as much as he wanted to kill him. Harry wanted this. Just this moment.

"You are so...beautiful," Voldemort moaned in Harry's mouth and Harry groaned.

He lost himself as Voldemort forced a thigh between his legs and grabbed him by his waist, jerking him up. Harry gasped as the position brought Voldemort's heavy erection against his own. It sent a shock up Harry's spine and he whined, rocking against the man, experimenting. He whimpered, heat rising. He could smell burning wood, heavy and smoky.

"M-more," Harry whispered, dragging Voldemort's head down to his neck. Voldemort kissed bruises down the column of Harry's neck, marking him.

Harry keened. This was his. This didn't belong to the Order or the Dursleys or even all of fucking Albion. This was his.

Then, the sound of hooves shattered the illusion. This was not just his.

"Fuck," Harry whispered and he shoved Voldemort away with so much force that the taller man stumbled. Harry pulled his wand. " _Expelliarmus_."

Voldemort blinked, gaping as he was swiftly Disarmed and Harry caught his wand. Harry swallowed, vibrating as the wand core sang to him. He heard the phoenix lament and his vision was obscured by crimson for just a moment before Fawkes settled on his shoulders.

Harry swallowed. Ron. Ginny. Fred. George. And Tonks.

Harry turned his face into Fawkes' crimson feathers breathing heavily for just a second. He composed himself, dragging his eyes from the armed Order members to the Dark Lord. Voldemort smiled.

"You are clever. Beauty is power, indeed."

"No. I'm really not. Clever, I mean," Harry whispered. His wand was shaking. His hand was shaking.

Voldemort stared at Fawkes.

"Fawkes led them here."

"Don't move. Please," Harry said, softly, moving closer to Voldemort. He kicked away Horcrux as Voldemort lunged for it and stepped on the Dark Lord's hand, pointing his own wand at his face. "Bind him."

" _INCARCEROUS_."

Five voices raged and Harry watched as ropes wrapped around Voldemort. His hands were bound, tied to a rope around his neck. Bound around his biceps. Ropes around his knees. Around his feet.

"I'm afraid to Stun him," Harry said, softly.

Tonks bared her teeth. "I'm not," she hissed and she wordlessly Stunned him, a bright red light bringing him down. "I'll carry him."

Harry nodded, stowing the Dark Lord's wand in his cloak as he walked towards Ginny's horse. He didn't wait for her to offer a hand as he mounted the horse, sitting behind her. Ginny looked over her shoulder, eyes warm. She knew.

"Did he force himself on you?" Ginny asked, softly.

She was giving him an out.

Harry smiled and looked away as Tonks floated Voldemort across the back of her horse and stuck a sticking charm.

"No."

 **MIRROR**

Harry stripped away his clothing, ignoring Ginny and Tonks. It was too late for modesty, and he felt cold for the first time in his entire life.

"Do you think me a whore now, Ginny?" Harry whispered as he pulled a clean white tunic devoid of Voldemort's blood and the dirt that he had collected from rolling on the ground and fighting back.

He pulled on dark red robes and laced up his boots. He finally turned to look at Ginny. Her cheeks were bright red, making her freckles stark against her face. She had been watching him dress. Tonks stared at him, eyes cold.

"I...I don't understand. Why did you kiss him?" Ginny asked.

Harry turned away from her, staring out of the window. Night had fallen. Torches were gathered right in front of the Burrow II. McGonagall had tied the man to a post. He could see the camp gathering. It was time for judgment and it would be his judgment that passed.

"Because all my life, I have done what was needed and I have not asked for anything. I needed to live. I wanted to kiss him," Harry confessed. He would not lie.

Ginny growled. "That man has murdered hundreds of people. He has burned villages down, eaten the hearts of innocent girls. He has imposed unfair taxes on the Muggles. He placed his mad sister on a throne that belonged to your mother. He murdered your parents! His Death Eaters have tortured hundreds of Muggleborns and Muggles for the hell of it."

Harry turned to look at Ginny.

"I know," he whispered.

"No! You don't!" Ginny roared. "Voldemort killed my uncles in a public execution intended to inspire fear! When I was a girl, his Death Eaters, Travers, and Dolohov, led a raid. They murdered my parents and they...they…so, yes, I think you're a whore! Desperate for his cock like the rest of them!"

"Harry did what he did to survive," Tonks bit out, cutting off Ginny. Ginny reared back like she had been slapped. Harry didn't flinch, staring between the two women. "I do the same. If he's a whore, what must I be?"

"That's not what I meant, Tonks, and you know it," Ginny retorted.

"The Death Eaters' sins are not Harry's to bear. Do not ask that of him," Tonks said, firmly.

Ginny swallowed and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. She reached down, grabbing Harry's cloak and tossing it at him. Harry snatched it out of the air and whipped it around his shoulders.

"Thank you, Tonks," Harry said, softly.

"Don't thank me," Tonks said, her voice hard. Harry flinched. "I understand. I do. But, I am furious. He killed my father."

Ginny looked surprised by Tonks' confession.

"I know," Harry whispered.

"You know what he took from me," Tonks said softly. She held out her hand to him and Harry took it, squeezing hard in apology. Tonks nodded and she sighed. "Let's go."

Harry nodded. He walked from the room, Ginny and Tonks flanking him. It was only them in the room. The rest waited outside. Harry wondered if everyone already knew what circumstances that the Order had found him and Voldemort in. The thought made his stomach turn.

Harry walked out of the front door and stared at the entire population of the camp. Just in front of the Burrow II was the wooden post. He could see the back of Voldemort, his hands bound behind the post. An enormous wooden cage was around him, enforced by conjured iron. Harry could feel the protective spells, the wards. Fawkes sat on top of the cage, singing the lament. Voldemort's wand burned against Harry's skin.

Harry stared at his people. They were all staring between him and Voldemort, hissing terrible things at the Dark Lord, if they were brave enough. Some just stared at Voldemort, far too terrified. They were muttering to each other, gossiping. They stared at him with awe, wondering how he had brought the Dark Lord before him. Children stared in curiosity or hid their faces behind their mothers' skirts.

Harry saw Teddy in the arms of Lavender Brown, a girl that Ron flirted with often enough.

"This is no place for children. If you have a child, leave with them," Harry said, his voice cutting through the murmurings.

McGonagall, Moody, and Benjy Fendwick all looked up. The oldest members of the Order. Harry lifted his chin, daring them to speak. McGonagall dipped her head, giving him power. Fendwick and Moody glared at him. So, they knew. No matter.

The older teens were handed children, sent away with them. Harry walked past the cage, never taking his eyes off the crowd. He was not a fool. This interrogation could very-well turn into something bloodier. No child should see something like that.

"You're rather bossy, aren't you?"

Harry finally turned to look at the man on the ground. Voldemort's eyes were closed but, he was turned towards Harry. He looked far too relaxed for a man that had just been captured.

"Kindly shut the fuck up," Harry said, voice harsh.

Voldemort's lips twitched. "Is that what you want or what you need?"

"Both."

Voldemort opened one lazy crimson eye. He said nothing before he closed his eye again and took a deep breath. He was so at ease that it put Harry on edge.

"You are not frightened," Harry said.

"Why should I be frightened?" Voldemort asked with a slight smile on his face. "I do not fear any of you."

"I imagine not."

Harry looked back at the crowd. The Weasleys were gathered together. Ginny had joined them and they were all whispering to one another. Bill and Percy glared at him, the most suspicious. Harry suspected that she was telling them his response.

"They saw you. They don't trust you."

Harry spun and looked at Voldemort. Voldemort's eyes were open now. He was staring around with mild interest, unbothered by the looks of hatred.

"I know. Shut up, git," Harry snarled, vibrating with irritation. This man was not afraid. He had the capability to kill him and he still smiled.

"I'm not a git."

Harry burned. The torches flared brighter. "You burn villages for fun. You're more than a git."

Voldemort smirked.

"We're bantering. Nearly flirting. Are you flirting with me, Harry Potter? With me, the Dark Lord Voldemort?" Voldemort asked.

Harry pulled a wand and barely reacted when he saw the pale wood of yew. He yanked out the ceremonial knife and snarled, storming up to the door of the cage. The group of witnesses fell silent. Voldemort stared up at Harry, a challenge in his eyes.

"Say one more word and I will kill you with your own wand."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"What's stopping you? I dare you," Voldemort hissed. Harry faltered.

The man's lips reminded him of Tonks. Tonks who didn't have a father and hadn't seen her mother in many years. He remembered his own mother. He remembered the mausoleum. His dead father. All of the dead people that were gone because of this man. This man that Harry wanted.

"You don't deserve a quick death, Lord Voldemort," Harry said, his voice trembling. "I will do as you have done to my mother. I will rip your heart out of your warm chest and feed it to the Mad Queen."

Voldemort smiled for a moment. Then, the amusement in his eyes shuttered, leaving something cold and harsh. Harry felt her presence behind him and he took a step back, swallowing his pride.

"Your Highness, please step back. I need to enter."

Harry stepped away from the door and watched Madame Minerva McGonagall waved her wand in a complicated manner. The door creaked open. She entered the cage. Harry knew there was no love lost between the two powerful figures: the Dark Lord and the Leader of the Rebellion.

Voldemort looked up at McGonagall, his eyes chilly. "Shall we begin?"

 **MIRROR**

"He's been gone far too long."

Lucius looked up from the pheasant that he had swiftly devoured, wiping his fingers delicately along his Transformed hand towel. He threw the filthy towel into the fire. As it touched the flames, it turned back into the fallen leaf that it had been before. Lucius pulled the bone from his mouth, licked clean.

"Have faith in our Lord, Severus. He comes and goes. You know that," Lucius chastised. Severus nodded, acceding that Lucius had a point.

The Dark Lord roamed, even when on a regular hunt. But, he had never left without telling Lucius and Severus where he was going. Lord Voldemort was paranoid enough to give them a time limit for his outings. Lucius usually brushed off such precautions, trusting in their Lord's abilities, but Severus' stomach felt like a pit.

"He's usually back within the hour. Tempus," Severus said, sharply. He frowned as the time glittered in the air for a moment before disappearing. "He left before sundown. It's nearing six hours since his disappearance. It's near midnight, Lucius."

Lucius considered this. "This is true. He returns and regales us with dramatic, spectacular stories of death."

"You mean he brags," Severus corrected, brushing a greasy hair from his eye. He looked down his large hooked nose and over at Lucius but, Lucius went back to cleaning the bones from his pheasant. "Do you think he found him? The Fairest?"

Lucius shrugged. "Maybe that's what's taking him so long. A pretty little thing like that? Our Lord doesn't normally play with his food but, any man would fall to their knees before someone that looks like that."

Severus hummed. The boy had been beautiful. Dark hair, pale skin, plump red lips. Those green eyes that reminded him of Lily. The Dark Lord appreciated beauty and Severus knew his Lord well. He'd want him.

"Perhaps," Severus allowed. "Or he got the better of him."

"A second time?" Lucius drawled. "Severus, you go too far. The Dark Lord is formidable. He wouldn't let a pretty little green boy trick him again."

"He always says he only falls for parlor tricks twice," Severus retorted.

"He says that in jest, Severus. He never falls for parlor tricks," Lucius said, rolling his eyes. Severus grit his teeth, annoyed with being dismissed once more.

"There is something off," he insisted.

"You're too suspicious, Severus. Calm your nerves and dine instead of brooding at the fire and flapping around like an overgrown bat."

"I haven't moved since we started this fire," Severus retorted.

Lucius waved his arm. "I meant it, figuratively."

Severus prepared another dry remark. There was the loud caw of a messenger falcon. It was a harsh and urgent sound that falcons were trained to make. Severus' thoughts disappeared and he stood, overwhelmed for a moment. Was it the Dark Lord? Was is the capital? The armies? Severus held his arm out and the falcon landed on it.

Severus took the letter and turned it over. It was a wax seal that he was not familiar with but, he knew the style. It was a Gaulish style. So, the Granger girl.

"What does it say?" Lucius asked.

Severus turned it over again. It was unaddressed on the outside. He ripped it open swiftly, crack the turquoise wax.

 _My Lord,_

 _The Queen is dead. Draco has taken the throne and Princess Andromeda, Warden of the West, tells me that my Lady, Princess Narcissa the King's Mother, has murdered her own sister in a play for power. I was told to send this urgent message to you by a servant girl named Luna who claimed that you could be trusted with this information._

 _I hold reservations for now, but at present moment, you are this empire's only hope._

 _Please return, immediately._

 _Lady Hermione Granger_

Severus looked up, feeling cold. He shoved the letter into Lucius' face. The blond man took it, lazily, marking the parchment with his greasy fingers. Lord Malfoy read it and stood, picked bones falling from his lap into the grass and he dropped the parchment into the fire. Lucius turned back to Severus, surprisingly composed in the face of learning that his wife had just committed sororicide.

"Fuck. The Mad Queen is dead," Severus said, his voice rough. "Fuck."

Lucius looked at Severus, grimly. "My sentiments exactly."

 **ON THE WALL**

"Welcome to the Resistance camp, Lord Voldemort," McGonagall said, her voice unyieldingly chilly. Harry still himself, forcing himself not to flinch at her tone. "You will pay for your crimes."

"Will I, now?" Voldemort asked, his face blank.

Everyone was unnerved by his composure in the face of his enemies.

McGonagall opened her mouth to retort but, Ron stormed forward, baring his teeth through the wooden bars, his wand raised and his fingers wrapped tight around the battle-axe on his waist. Voldemort didn't seem half as concerned as Harry was.

"Yes! You will! You'll pay for the crimes you have committed! For the murders and devastation that you created!" Ron roared. There was a rumble of agreement from around him. Harry reached back, grabbing for Tonks' hand. She squeezed his hand tight.

"I do not regret what I have done," Voldemort said. It wasn't a taunt as much as a confession. Harry shuddered. Their disgust was palpable.

"Men like you should burn in hell," Tonks snarled under her breath.

Voldemort looked at her sharply. He tilted his head, staring at her for a long time and then, his gaze softened and he smiled. Harry froze. He recognized her. Tonks realized it too. She took a step back, waiting for him to shout it to the Order.

"You think the gods would punish men like me? For the injustices that I have wrought?" Voldemort asked, his voice nearly gentle. Tonks winced. Voldemort leaned forward as far as he could, never looking away from his niece. "Girl, there are no men like me. Only me."

He laughed, a sound that chilled Harry's core.

"Confess your crimes before judgment is passed. Let the world know what you have done," McGonagall snarled "Why have you come?"

Voldemort stayed silent, staring up at McGonagall. McGonagall frowned and Ron went red with rage.

"Why were you searching for Harry?" Ron snarled and he took a step forward as if to beat the answers out of the Dark Lord. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he tried.

Harry's hand tightened over the Dark Lord's yew wand and he bit his lip as crimson eyes met green. Harry took a step closer, ignoring the incredulous stares from the crowd and the judgment from the Order members.

"Answer the questions, bastard," Bill shouted.

There was a general roar of agreement and Harry lifted his wand, shooting sparks into the air. The crowd fell silent as Harry stepped forward, pushing past Ron and pressing his hand against the cage door.

"Nobody speak. This is King Salazar's firstborn. Show some respect," Harry said, his voice so low that it was nearly a whisper. They broke into more whispers, judgment.

"He's a murder, Harry! He killed your parents. Locked your godfather in Azkaban," Remus snarled, his voice low and feral. Harry looked up with fire in his green eyes.

"I am well are of what he did to my parents, Mr. Lupin. I carry the knife that carved my mother open. I know what's he done. I know what he has threatened to do. But, you all will show him some fucking respect," Harry snarled.

Moody's gaze was black but Harry ignored it. He turned back to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord's lips twitched into a slight smirk as McGonagall shifted, frustrated with his silence. Voldemort leaned forward.

"I have no answers to give," Voldemort said.

McGonagall shot him a look of disgust before she backed away and pushed the cage door open. Moody limped forward, wand raised, and Ron slid in, raising his wand. Ron looked at Moody and Moody nodded once.

"I'll make you answer," Ron said. " _Crucio_."

Voldemort jerked, laughing long and hard. Ron stared down at his wand in confusion before he looked up at Voldemort and Moody. Moody cleared his throat.

"You have to mean it, boy," Voldemort hissed.

Moody lifted his wand and sneered. " _Crucio_."

There was a gasp from the crowd as Voldemort jerked, his back arching against the pole. He clenched his jaw tight, breathing harshly through the pain. The veins in his neck pulsed. Harry shivered and pushed between Moody and Ron, darting in front of Voldemort, holding his hands open. He was hit with a rush of agony that brought him to his knees before it was lifted nearly immediately.

"What the fuck are you doing, boy?" Moody roared.

Harry glared at the man. "You will not torture him. Not in front of me. We are better than them."

"He's not worth your protection, Harry," Ron retorted.

"Fuck off, Ron," Harry hissed and Ron reared back, shocked. Harry trembled with the aftershocks of the pain and he looked between McGonagall and Moody, carefully measuring his words. "He won't talk. You think he can't handle torture? He's the Dark Lord. You have no real power over him."

Moody ground his teeth. Harry looked around the camp. They were all watching, waiting for Moody and McGonagall to make their decision.

"Then what shall we do?" McGonagall asked, finally.

 _Beauty is power._

"You have no real power over him," Harry said, shortly. "But. I do."

Voldemort let out a rough laugh. "And so you do, sweetling."

Harry spun around and fell to his knees before the Dark Lord, crawling in between his legs. He sat back on his haunches and stared into Voldemort's eyes. He settled his hands on the other man's knees.

"What are you doing, Harry? Let me do this, I've been train—"

Harry looked over his shoulder and hissed, "Shut up, Ron."

Harry turned back to Voldemort and leaned up so that he was taller than the Dark Lord. He settled his hands on the Dark Lord's shoulders and ignored everyone. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Voldemort's. He sighed into the kiss and pulled back. Voldemort stared at him, crimson eyes dark.

"What kind of games are you playing now, Harry Potter? I only fall for the same parlor trick twice," Voldemort whispered.

"Why do you want my heart?" Harry whispered, bringing his hands up to cup Voldemort's jaw. He brushed his thumb against the man's lower lip and he squirmed as Voldemort nipped at the skin. His cock twitched in his trousers.

"You ask dangerous questions. In front of all of these people? I didn't take you for an exhibitionist," Voldemort taunted. Harry's grip tightened on the man's shoulder and he leaned forward, licking up Voldemort's jaw. Stubble scratched at his tongue.

"My Lord, what does some of my blood give you?" Harry whispered, climbing onto Voldemort's lap, straddling him. He could feel the man's swelling cock under him.

"My Lord?" Voldemort asked, thrusting up once.

Harry smirked. "My Lord. Answer my question."

"Your blood gives me only a glimmer of my goal but, it's a worthy glimmer indeed. Why?"

Harry pulled his knife from behind him and cut a shallow wound along his arm. Voldemort stared as blood welled, glinting darkly in the firelight.

"I will let you taste it. If you answer my question," Harry whispered, his red lips turned into a sly smile. Voldemort's breath caught in his throat. "So...why exactly do you want my heart?"

"I told you. Youth and beauty forever, sweetling," Voldemort said, his eyes tracking the blood sliding down Harry's forearm, gathering at his wrist. He thrust up again and Harry gasped, biting his lip to stop himself from cumming.

This was different from wanking himself off. Another hard hot body beneath his was... _focus_.

"What does that mean?" Harry whispered. The green of his eyes looked bright in the flaming torches that flickered against the darkness of night.

Voldemort leaned forward, neck craning as he brushed his lips against Harry's ear. Voldemort dragged his tongue down the shell of Harry's ear and Harry froze.

"I mean quite _literally_ , that I have eaten the hearts of Princess Helena of House Ravenclaw and Princess Lily of House Gryffindor. I mean that these things come in threes. I mean that to achieve eternal life and beauty...I must eat the raw heart of the most beautiful person in the world."

 _You_.

Harry jumped up from the man, fear in every line of his body. Voldemort threw his head back and laughed. Harry looked at McGonagall and Moody. So, they knew. He could see it in their eyes. But, Ron looked confused, as if he didn't quite believe him. So, only the elders knew about this. Harry would be damned if he faced the same fate as his mother.

"Do you fear me, Prince Harry?"

Harry steeled himself and looked at Voldemort. Voldemort leaned forward, curious and more than a little amused. The echo of his laughter remained on his face. Harry pursed his lips.

"I do not fear you. I fear what you could do to me."

Voldemort laughed again. "Then, you are as foolish as you are beautiful."

"Did you come alone?"

"And why would I tell you that?" Voldemort sneered.

Harry's hands clenched into tight fists. His nails pressed into his soft skin, creating crescent-shaped marks on his palm. He slowly lifted his hand and he called the Fire, watching it swirl around his fingers. Ron jumped back as the heat sweltered and sweat poured down Voldemort's face. He watched, fascinated.

"I said they couldn't torture you. I didn't say I wouldn't kill you. Unlike you, I could 'quite literally' burn the heart of you," Harry whispered.

Voldemort grinned. "You are vicious."

"You have no idea."

Voldemort hummed. "I think I do. You bit a man's finger off."

There were gasps and quiet murmurs as the crowd debated what that meant. Harry flinched and looked around. Moody looked vaguely impressed while the Weasleys looked disgusted. Remus looked horrified. Harry turned back around before he could catch a glimpse of Tonks' expression. That would break him. Instead, he lifted his arm and pressed hard to the cut, gathering blood on his finger tips.

"Answer my question," Harry said, offering his fingers.

Voldemort's smile fell away. "I came with two others. Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape. They're three leagues to the northwest."

And Harry pressed his hand to Voldemort's lips and rewarded him with the blood on his fingers.

 **WHOM IS**

"Something's wrong."

Severus turned an annoyed, dark gaze on his comrade. He looked into the dying embers of their fire and shifted, his bones creaking from sitting still for too long. It had been another hour or two. Midnight was fast approaching.

"I've been attempting to tell you this for hours," Severus said, coldly.

Lucius sneered at Severus.

"It would not have been the first time that the Dark Lord left without telling us. He is the Dark Lord. He comes and goes as he pleases, as he well should, seeing as he's the fucking Dark—" Lucius snarled, working himself into a defensive rage.

In the middle of Lucius' babbling, Severus turned away from him. He peered into the surrounding woods with careful eyes. He saw the shadows move. Severus jumped up from his seat.

"What are you—"

"You talk too much," Severus hissed as he picked up his sword from its perch against the side of his tent.

Slowly, he unsheathed it and drew his wand. There was the sound of steel being drawn. Lucius walked towards his own sword and grabbed it. Lucius looked at Severus, put out by the fanfare.

"What is the meaning of this, Severus?" Lucius asked, pompous and irritated. Severus shook his head.

"Someone's out there. Put out the fire."

Lucius sighed, long and hard. He nodded and drew his wand. " _Agua_ —"

" _STUPEFY_!"

"Protego," Severus snapped, blocking the four Stunners.

Lucius jumped back, wide-eyed as two twin redheads flew over the fire like birds, launching themselves forward. Their twin expressions were fierce upon their freckled brows and they brandished swords like they had been born holding them.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA_!" Lucius cried out, the Killing Curse flying from your wand.

He faltered when the redheads swung each other out of the way and landed on either side of the fire. They looked up, slowly, fire brightening their brown eyes. Severus looked between the two, calculatingly. They were wearing battle robes, emblazoned with a phoenix on their breasts. Their face shape was remarkable similar to Prewett twins. Unsurprising. So, House Prewett wasn't extinct. Severus pushed that out of his mind.

"Who are you?" Lucius hissed, raising his sword and wand.

In an eerie unison, the twins whispered, "Your executioners."

They launched themselves forward, moving in perfect tandem. Lucius blocked both of the swords coming down over his face. Lucius nearly took a step back but, he hardened himself, pushing them off with his sword. He neatly cut and slashed at one twin, raising his wand and firing curses with his other wand. Lucius spun and kicked out, catching one twin in the chest. The redhead stumbled and the other twin reached out, wide-eyed.

"George!"

As the boy was distracted, Lucius pointed his wand at the two and hissed, " _Incendio_."

George pushed his brother out of the way just in time and they came back at him, slashing their swords down with precision. Lucius spun, blond hair whipping around his face as he thrust. His blow was quickly parried but before either one of the twins could stick their sword in him, he quickly danced out of the way. Lucius smirked.

Severus may have been the better swordsman but, Lucius was faster.

"Would you like to take one?" Lucius called over his shoulder, confident in his abilities. "Or I can finish them both off. You just sit back and look greasy."

He frowned when he heard Severus grunt in exertion.

"I'm busy."

Lucius glanced over his shoulder just for a second and groaned when he saw Severus fighting off two other redheads. One had a long ponytail and a fang in his earlobe and the other was shorter but had broader shoulders. Lucius ground his teeth together.

" _Baubilios_!" Lucius shouted, shooting off the lightning curse.

The two twins dove towards the ground.

"Fighting with magic? Can't beat us with a sword, eh?" the unnamed twin taunted.

Lucius laughed, quietly, low and full of malice.

"I'm not a Muggle. I am a pureblood wizard. What use would I be with only a sword and no wand," Lucius said, coldly.

"See that's the problem with you lot! Think you're better than everyone else. Well, guess what, my Lord? You're not!" George spat.

Lucius' lips pulled into a humorless smile. "Would you like to place a bet on that?" he asked as he stuck his sword into the fire and brought it out, the steel glowing slightly. He slashed down at George, catching his doublet. The cloth split and began to smoke and George cried out, burned by the heat of the metal.

"Less talking, more dueling!" Severus snarled. " _Stupefy_."

"Having a difficult time doing both, Severus?" Lucius taunted as he went after the unnamed twin as George recovered. The unnamed twin stumbled as Lucius slashed through his shoulder.

Lucius knew it was only a flesh wound but, hearing the cry of pain and George's scream of fury made him feel victorious. His triumph was extinguished when George raised his wand and snarled, " _Expelliarmus_."

Lucius tried to keep his wand in hand but it flew into George's hand. With his hand reached out, he was open and the unnamed twin tackled him to the ground, sitting on his sword arm and throwing his body across his back. Lucius writhed underneath him but George sat down on his legs, trapping him against the dirt.

"Severus! Run!" Lucius shouted.

He turned his head to see the stockier redhead stumble, wrenching Severus' blade from his bloody thigh. Severus was on the ground, hands raised in surrender.

Well, fuck.

 **FAIREST OF**

"Sister."

Narcissa smiled down at her sister in greeting. The brunette woman held out her hand, guiding Narcissa out to the balcony, two of her strange Western maids standing at attention. They were hard-faced and disciplined in a way that Narcissa had never seen. Narcissa looked around at the balcony, lit by torches, the moon, and the stars. Just outside the castle grounds, a storm brewed.

Hogsmeade would have a rough night.

"Good evening, Andromeda," Narcissa said, her voice pleasant though she was anything but.

Her son had heard petitions for the first time from the commoners of Hogsmeade and the court. Draco did not take kindly to being told that his personal guard frequented too many whorehouses and brutalized them. Nor did he appreciate being told that the sanitation system in Hogsmeade needed to be improved upon. He had told them to Vanish the shit away and Narcissa had informed him that Vanishing meant it always appeared again. The final straw had been a vassal of House Longbottom attempting to take out a loan now that House Longbottom was nearly extinct. Narcissa had to talk her son down from an impromptu execution.

"Thank you for joining me for tea. I know you had a long tiring day," Andromeda said.

Narcissa granted her sister a smile that wasn't really a smile. Andromeda smiled back, just as sour, and she waved her hand to the two servant girls. Narcissa watched as they obediently laid out a spread of scones, two teacups, and a teapot.

"Scones with cream? My favorite?" Narcissa asked, vaguely surprised and mildly impressed.

"You are my little sister. I know what you like," Andromeda said. The tension in her voice could cut through glass. Narcissa regarded her sister as she waved her wand, pouring the tea for Andromeda and herself.

Andromeda, despite her never-ending grief over a Mudblood, was still a Slytherin. She had had no problem with the murderous personalities of their older siblings. Before she had met the Muggle, she had actively participated in keeping their monstrous deeds hidden. Despite it all, Andromeda was the same woman and Narcissa was not stupid. The woman wanted something.

Or knew something.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure."

Andromeda sipped her tea slowly as Narcissa dipped her scones in cream and quietly chewed. Andromeda looked at her maids and nodded once, dismissing them. Narcissa watched them march out with the gravitas of soldiers.

"You train them so well," Narcissa said, pressing a smile to her face, relaxing in her chair. "You must tell me how."

Andromeda turned a dark gaze onto Narcissa. Narcissa frowned, letting concern permeate her being.

"What troubles you, dear sister?" Narcissa asked.

Andromeda frowned. "You're a slimy bitch, Narcissa, and you have been since we were children. Drop that simpering act now," Andromeda drawled. Narcissa winced, her frown sliding off her face like oil. "How could you?"

"How could I what?" Narcissa sighed.

"'How could you what?'" Andromeda mocked. She slammed her hand on the table, full of judgment. "How could you kill our sister?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Narcissa said, honestly.

Andromeda laughed, long and hard. Narcissa stared at all of that disgust and derision and smiled. That was all for her. Andromeda wondered, briefly, when her little sister had become so heartless.

"Are you that desperate for his approval, Narcissa? That desperate for his love?" Andromeda spat. She stood so fast from her seat, she knocked the teacup to the ground. It shattered, splashes of hot tea soaking the hem of her gown. Andromeda had drawn her wand.

"Desperate? I don't know wh—"

" _Liar_ ," Andromeda hissed. Narcissa stared at her and thought that her eyes might have flashed red for a moment. "You're a liar and a fool. If you think this will make him love you, you're wrong. Our brother will never love anyone but himself. You are a child for thinking otherwise."

Narcissa's eyes widened as Andromeda condemned her. Narcissa stood and drew her own wand. The two sisters measured each other. Andromeda swallowed. Narcissa looked like she was made of diamond, her face immovable.

"You know nothing of what I do. You do not know my machinations or my motivations. Do not presume to know me," Narcissa warned. "I think it's time to take my leave."

Andromeda took a step forward as if she wanted to hit Narcissa. Narcissa raised her wand higher, pointing it between Andromeda's eyes.

"Fine. But, I have words of wisdom for you: he wants and wants and wants. He takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left. You think I know nothing, Narcissa? I feel everything. I _know_ you," Andromeda snarled.

Narcissa froze. Andromeda did know. Andromeda Empath.

"What do you know, then, Andromeda?" Narcissa asked, coldly.

"Our brother is greedy and he doesn't love you. He doesn't love anyone and he never fucking will. He's barely capable of loving himself. He can't feel that way. You're a child," Andromeda snarled. She waved her wand, opening the balcony doors with such a force that the glass shattered.

Pieces of glass rained down from the door frame. Narcissa ignored it all in favor of staring at her sister.

"You're not as broken as the world thinks you are. You feel," Narcissa observed.

Andromeda bared her teeth. "I am not broken. I do feel. And you know what've I been feeling for the past thirty-some years? Rage. Now, get the fuck out."

 **THEM ALL?**

They waited. Harry paced the length of the cage over and over again, looking up periodically to see if Charlie, Bill, and the twins had returned yet. McGonagall spoke softly through the grates to Percy. Percy was taking rapid notes, his Quill writing what he was dictating. Every few moments, he would look at Harry with this look of disgust. It made Harry shiver and he turned away from it. Moody stood in the corner, watching. Harry was met with enemies at every turn.

"You could be a great king. In a different time."

Harry froze and looked down at the Dark Lord. McGonagall, Percy, Ron, and Moody all turned their sharp gazes onto Voldemort.

"You think so?" Harry asked. He looked at Percy, pointedly. "They don't."

Percy looked down, shamefaced.

Voldemort laughed, quietly. "Yes. You do what must be done to ensure the survival of your people and yourself. You do not care for their judgment. You are kind to your people and ruthless to your enemies. You endure. Our families were once like that but, when the wars against the Tabooed ended, they grew soft and too comfortable. Once cannot be comfortable on the Gilded Throne."

Harry hummed, crossing his arms.

"No?" he asked.

"No. It is a monstrously made thing, that my sisters and I crafted. It is meant to embody the monstrosity of the crown. You must be a monster to forge an empire. Are you a monster, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked.

Before Harry could respond, someone shouted, "MADAME! WE'VE GOT THEM!"

McGonagall turned and they watched as the crowd split to allow, Bill, Charlie and the twins through. Harry stared at Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy. Severus was a greasy man with long black hair, a too-large nose, and looked akin to an overgrown bat. He seemed surprisingly docile for one of the most dangerous swordsmen in Albion. The man that sat, bound, behind Charlie had long silvery blond hair and baleful gray eyes, like his son. Lucius, then.

"Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy," McGonagall said, coldly. She transfigured the grass on either side of Voldemort into two more posts.

Charlie and Bill dismounted, and each twin helped their older brothers drag the captives to the cage. Moody opened the door and Charlie and Bill pushed Snape and Malfoy in roughly. Snape bared his teeth and Charlie delivered a swift punch to the face. Harry winced. Malfoy tossed his hair back, haughtily and sat down in front of the left post, waiting to be tied up. Harry watched as the twins cast the rope-binding spell.

Moody raised his own hand, throwing up more binding spells.

"You got captured? By children?" Voldemort sneered.

Severus glared at his Lord, no longer caring about propriety.

"Evidently," he said through gritted teeth.

Lucius sneered at Bill, Charlie, and the twins as the backed out of the cage and closed it roughly. Tonks held her hand out for the wands and Bill and Charlie handed them to her willingly.

"I can't believe we lost to Prewetts," Lucius hissed.

Ron bared his teeth. "Weasleys, asshole."

"Enough," Moody barked. "We begin again and then the Order shall pass their judgment."

"No," Harry snarled and Moody stared at him, wide-eyed. "I will pass my judgment."

Even as he said it, he was terrified. Harry had terrible judgment. Hours ago, he had been caught snogging the Dark Lord. But, he would not be pushed aside.

 _Kill the boy, Harry Potter._

No, it would be him or not at all.

"But—" Moody started.

"Of course, your Highness," McGonagall said, nodding once.

Charlie stepped up to the cage and leaned forward. Where suspicion had been, there was now a glint of approval. "A falcon was found by their fire, your Highness. A messenger falcon."

Harry nodded, turning back to the three men. A messenger falcon meant something. It was an important message, then. It had to be delivered swiftly. He looked between Severus and Lucius, but the men remained tight-lipped. They stared up at the Prince of Gryffindor in defiance.

"What did it say?" Voldemort asked, softly.

Lucius glanced at his Lord from the corner of his eye and then out to the crowd.

"My Lord, I do not think it wise…" Lucius murmured.

"What. Did. It. Say?" Voldemort asked, enunciating every word with dangerous precision.

He vibrated with fury and it suddenly struck Harry that Voldemort could've escaped long ago. He could have ripped out of his bonds and torn through the wards. But, he hadn't. He had remained, testing Harry and the Order, for some reason. This was a game to the man. The game of thrones and he would always win. The wards quivered and Moody jerked.

Snape looked up. Tonelessly, he said, "The Mad Queen is dead. Draco has taken the throne. He is Emperor."

Silence. Harry had stopped breathing. He looked at Voldemort. Voldemort stared as if he were looking straight through Harry. He tilted his head, so completely in control that Harry really was frightened of him now.

"Who killed my sister?" Voldemort whispered.

"Why do you think you sister was killed?" Harry asked.

Voldemort didn't look at him. "My sister was insane but, she was never stupid and she was never weak in magic. And there are ways to prolong our lives. Who killed my sister, Severus? Lucius?"

Lucius swallowed. "Lady Granger wrote that Andromeda…" he hesitated. Harry glanced at Tonks, who stood stiffly. "Andromeda told her that Narcissa murdered her in a play for power. There was a body. She had been interred in the crypts."

Voldemort jerked against his ropes and the crowd gasped as the ropes fell away from him, turning his wisps of darkness. Voldemort cracked his bones but, didn't move from his seat in front of the pole. He ground his teeth together and his skin was bone white with rage.

"Narcissa...killed..my sister."

Severus nodded once. "Allegedly."

Voldemort said nothing. He looked at Harry, his brow furrowed.

"My Lord?" Lucius whispered.

"Be silent," Voldemort snarled. "Narcissa killed my sister. And put your incompetent son on the throne. He will burn Albion to the ground. I have spent years...years...forging this empire. This will destroy everything. She has no idea what she's done!"

His voice grew louder and louder until he was roaring.

Harry didn't move.

If anything, he took a step closer.

"He told me about you," Harry said, almost in wonder.

McGonagall frowned. "Harry, what are you doing?"

"I will pass my judgment now," Harry decided and he took another step closer, looking at the man. "This is not a hard thing to do. You will live."

There were gasps of protest and shouting.

"What are you doing, boy?" Moody shouted in his ear but, Harry only had eyes for the Dark Lord.

"You are too soft. You won't be able to lead an army. You can't lead this empire. You are not a monster. You give mercy to your greatest enemy," Voldemort spat, angrily.

Harry smiled. "You no longer want what you wanted," Harry decided as he looked over Voldemort. "I should have you killed. I should. You have murdered hundreds of people without remorse, including my parents. You have committed regicide. You have allowed your Death Eaters to destroy and pillage villages with abandon. You are greedy and cruel and selfish."

"I am," Voldemort drawled. "You should have me killed."

"No. I shouldn't and I won't," Harry decided. "Instead, we will talk for a while."

Moody leaned in but McGonagall's hand shot out, pulling the man back. She stared, curious.

"Tell me, Harry Potter. Why do you want this throne?" Voldemort asked.

Harry smiled ruefully.

"I don't," he answered. "But, it is mine. _Kingmaker_."

Voldemort froze. "What do you call me?"

Harry sighed, looking away. "I didn't get a name on my fifteenth annual but I am told that they called me Harry Wildfyre for on the day of my birth, I killed the summer and resurrected it again. But you...he called you Kingmaker. You are my maker."

Voldemort sneered, slowly standing to his feet. The Order members all trained their wands on him and the civilians gasped, jumping back, quietly sobbing at the idea that they might meet Death very soon.

"What would you have of me? And what would I have of you?" Voldemort murmured and he ignored Lucius and Severus' stiffening at his words.

Harry smiled. So, they would play the game together.

"Give me your eternal loyalty and I shall give you mercy," Harry said and Voldemort rolled his eyes and looked away from him.

"I'm not interested in your mercy. It's not enough," Voldemort snarled.

"Perhaps vengeance is better suited to you," Harry suggested and Voldemort looked at him again. Harry smirked.

"I could do that on my own," Voldemort said.

"No you couldn't," Harry barked. Voldemort looked taken aback. "You can't show up to Hogwarts Castle and behead the King-Emperor's mother without evidence. You weren't there. You can't single-handedly beat all of the Houses loyal to the crown. Narcissa killed your sister, my Lord. She broke that sacred, unspoken bond. Blood is important to you Slytherins. Her head won't sate the rage alone. You want everything."

Voldemort watched him, as if impressed. "Yes."

"We talked about wants and needs today. I need someone who has information on the inside. I need someone who has access. Someone who can influence the king and his mother without any sign that it is me ordering it. I need you to teach me. Teach me to rule. Teach me to fight. Teach me to be a king, Kingmaker," Harry suggested.

The Order members shifted, gasping and whispering. The civilians moved, nervously, not understanding what was being proposed. Harry prayed to the gods that Tonks wouldn't be angry or betrayed. Harry needed someone to teach him. _Kill the boy_. Moody and his little sect seemed opposed to him learning anything. Voldemort wouldn't be.

"You told me you didn't want to be king," Voldemort drawled.

"You asked why I wanted this empire. I would say duty," Harry said. "But, I was born into my family for a reason. Divine right. It is mine, and I will claim it with or without your help."

Voldemort took a step closer and Ron inhaled sharply, pulling forth his ax.

"What makes you different from me? After all, everybody wants to rule the world," Voldemort challenged.

"I want to make this world a better place. I want to fix the ugliness that you have created. I will forge this empire with my blood. But, if I have to use ugliness to make this empire better, I will. So, Lord Voldemort, vengeance and mercy for a crown?" Harry asked.

Voldemort hummed, smirking. "I could kill you six different ways right now, Prince Harry, and I don't have my wand. The ceremonial knife is in this cage. It knows the taste of your blood. I could easily carve your heart out. I could've slaughtered everyone in this camp by now. But, I didn't. Because you interest me. So, sweeten the deal for me," Voldemort said.

Harry swallowed, looking around. These were his people and he would give anything for his people.

"What is it that you want, Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Voldemort's eyes brightened and he smiled.

"Your innocence, sweetling."

The implications of those words struck him. Harry stopped when he felt McGonagall's hand on his shoulder. He looked at the older witch. She had trusted him with this, had allowed him to continue even when Moody had expressed his doubt.

"No...Harry…" she began.

She'd have to trust him with this too.

"Give me vengeance and your innocence and I shall give you a throne," Voldemort repeated. "I will make you, my King."

Harry jerked free of her hand and strode forward, offering his hand. Voldemort grabbed it and smirked.

"And you shall be unmade, Kingmaker. _Done_."

:::

 **A/N:** First, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. It was really fun to write and rework. A lot of the wording and proceedings are different from the last time I wrote this chapter. It's heavily revised to reflect the darker nature of the story as a whole. It was fun.

NOW.

My first note in this chapter is in reference to a review I got. It was criticism. I am partial to criticism. It helps me get better and I like getting better.

HOWEVER, I do not like when a character is called weak just because she happens to suffer her abuse without a word in order to survive. A reviewer called Hermione weak-willed and without a backbone. I think that's a comment without basis. Hermione is a SURVIVOR, first and foremost. She has suffered abuse for many years. She has been brought to a new country with no support system, and she doesn't have a WAND to defend herself in a MAGICAL society. She is _pretty_ for a Muggleborn. She has no power. So, yes, she's complacent. In order to survive.

BUT, that will change. Just you wait.

 **Next Chapter:** Should be out in a day or two. It's nearly complete. Just...smut is hard to write. At least, good smut. And remember this gets posted to AO3 too so, the smut is liable to be AO3-worthy. Take that as you will.


	12. Chapter Ten

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : Welp. This is super long. Here's to hoping that this doesn't get taken down for the approx. 5000 words of smut right smack dab in the middle of the chapter. Have fun, kiddos.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Ten

Harry had wanted to be in the room. He deserved to be in the room.

He wasn't sure if he liked being in the room when everyone was yelling at each other about him, barely paying him any mind. McGonagall sat directly to his left, Moody next to her, and Tonks had sat on his right. Tonks was shouting down Moody, calling him 'an old man too stuck in his ways', and Moody was implying something about Tonks being a common whore before they found her. Remus didn't take too kindly to that, growling, and then Tonks turned on Remus, shouting that she could fight her own battles.

Marlene McKinnon was fighting furiously with Percy Weasley about the records. Emmeline Vance was wringing her hands, attempting to make herself clear while Ron was raging at her, practically yelling at her. Sturgis Podmore was muttering furiously to Fendwick and Caradoc Dearborn, the old man, looked like he was ready to keel over from old age.

Nearly everyone carried on, arguing about the men locked away in the cage in front of the Burrow II. Fred and Charlie were in the infirmary, being treated for flesh wounds by Madame Pomfrey. Kingsley, Bill, and George were guarding the men downstairs, probably casting more and more wards. Harry knew Bill was a curse breaker, of sorts, able to use Arithmancy to lay wards; he was good with numbers. If anyone could find an unbreakable ward, it was Bill.

"STOP YELLING!"

Harry looked up from the table, staring at Ginny. She was breathing hard, her face bright red with irritation. Slowly, she settled back into her seat, glaring daggers at the lot of them.

"You're all yelling at each other," Ginny said, much quieter than before.

"She's right!" Ron roared, slamming his fist onto the table. Emmeline Vance jumped. "You're yelling at each other like it's each other's fault."

Harry's lips curled into a slight smile as he heard the unspoken accusation in Ron's words.

"But, it's _my_ fault, yes?" he asked, voice soft.

Ron shrugged. "Your words. Not mine."

Harry stood, suddenly, slamming his hands on the table. His eyes narrowed on Ron. The Order members—even Mad Eye-Moody—seemed surprised by his sudden aggression.

"I'd like to make a few things clear," Harry began. "I am not a whore. If I hear the word 'whore' used as an insult, one more time at this table, in reference to _anyone,_ I'll have you scrubbing bedpans in the Camp Infirmary."

"A whore is a reputable career?" Moody barked.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "It's an insult to the men and women who aren't afraid to do what they must to survive," Harry barked and he looked around the table. "I passed my judgment. I know what I'm doing. Don't question it."

Moody snorted, shaking his head.

"Boy, we've been fighting against the Dark Lord for years. Constant _vigilance_ for years, fighting to _survive_. If you think spreading your legs for him will make him—" Moody debated.

He stopped as Harry looked up, his wand pointed at Moody's scarred nose.

"Constant vigilance, eh?" Harry hissed. "Should've noticed I was pulling my wand on you."

Harry stiffened when he felt a hand close around his wrist. Harry looked down at the hand before looking up at the owner. Remus stared at him with serious amber eyes. Harry raised his eyebrows in anticipation and he pursed his lips, waiting for what Remus had to say. The man's brows were heavy with doubt.

"Harry...I think you made the wrong decision."

"I know what I'm doing," Harry repeated. "We struck a deal and I'm not going to break it. I need a way to make sure that he doesn't break the deal either. I need a magical oath. A serious one. One that he won't ever risk breaking."

McGonagall and Remus exchanged hopeless looks and Moody groaned, falling back in his chair. He turned, muttering into Fendwick's ear. Probably cursing Harry's name. McGonagall turned fully towards Harry.

"Your Highness...Harry...this isn't wise," McGonagall said, softly. "He is the Dark Lord. He is a Slytherin. He is cunning. If you are to be king, you must make—"

"It's not wise!" Harry shouted, exasperated. "But, I'll do what I have to do. He is called _Kingmaker_ for a reason. The Seer named him that just as I was named Harry Wildfyre. And I know that's what you call me so, you can't say that his name isn't true either. He has created an empire. I don't see that ascribed to any of _you_."

Ron growled, looking angrier than ever.

"You can't do this!" Ron shouted. "You can't whore yourself out! You're _our_ prince! We already caught you kissing him and now you're going to _fuck_ him? Are you that _desperate_ for cock?"

There was a quiet swell of noise, leading to another uproar. Harry was sure that they had already known. But, it had probably been whispered like rumors. If Ron was shouting it, it must be true, they probably thought. Harry took a deep breath, blood high in his cheeks.

"It's funny. Your sister said the same thing," Harry said, coldly.

Ginny flushed, looking down, embarrassed. So, perhaps Ron was just repeating what his sister had already said. Harry knew that the Weasleys weren't intentionally being malicious, not at all; they were angry, and rightfully so. But, still, it hurt.

"Harry…" Ginny started, an apology already in the way her lips curved.

"You don't know me, Ron Weasley," Harry interrupted. "You don't know a damn _thing_ about me. Everyone likes pretty things. Men and women think they're _entitled_ to me because of how I look. But, I do not belong to you. I don't belong to _any_ of you. My body is not yours to dictate. You belong to _me_. You are _my_ people."

"I...I didn't…" Ron stammered.

Harry held up his hand, silencing him and he collapsed into his seat, forcing himself not to bury his face in hands. The Order was silent, shell-shocked by his words. Slowly, Harry looked at the only person that he could stomach at the moment. Tonks was watching him, something like pride in her eyes.

"An Unbreakable Vow," she said.

Harry leaned forward in his seat.

"What's that?" he asked, softly.

"Nothing, your Highness," Fendwick said, and he shot Tonks a fearsome look.

Tonks bared her teeth back but, her eyes carefully went blank. She was trying to hide something from Harry. Harry was reminded quickly that no matter what her last name was, she would _always_ be a Slytherin by blood. She was more like her uncle than she thought.

"The Unbreakable Vow is a magical oath. You need a bonder to harness the spell. He swears by magic, all of the terms that were discussed tonight," Tonks said, sharply.

Harry nodded. "The consequences?"

"Breaking the Vow is punishable by death."

Harry reached and grabbed Tonks' hand. Tonks looked up at him and he was struck by the betrayal and _understanding_ within her eyes. She stood without him asking and they walked towards the door, hand in hand. Harry stood by the door and looked around at the Order.

"Your Highness…" Percy Weasley began. He flushed from Harry's attention. "Are you truly going through with this?"

"I am your prince. A prince does not rule, I've learned. I've learned that from just...watching this empire deteriorate. I think a prince serves. I will serve you all," Harry said. He looked around. "Meeting adjourned."

He walked from the room, Tonks at his side. They said nothing as they walked towards his room. They passed Tonks' room. Teddy was probably in there with Lavender Brown, by now. It was long past midnight.

They turned into Harry's bedroom, and Tonks slammed the door closed. She pulled her wand from the depths of her red cloak.

" _Muffliato_ ," she murmured. Harry jerked when his ears were suddenly filled with the quieting buzzing of bees. Tonks held out her hand. "It's a privacy spell. A bit like the wards that surround the camp."

Harry nodded in understanding. He looked over at Tonks with a helpless expression. Tonks looked almost indifferent. He watched as her pink hair drained to a mousy brown and grew limply to her shoulders.

"Tonks...I'm so, _so_ sorry," Harry whispered.

Tonks turned away, her shoulders shaking slightly. Harry swallowed hard. Tonks was trying not to cry, and she didn't want him to see her in a moment of weakness. She pressed her palms to her eyes, swallowing.

"Harry…I can…I understand," Tonks whispered.

Harry swallowed. "Do you?" he asked, barely above a whispered.

Tonks spun to face him. He was relieved that she was not weeping. Angry tears were in her eyes but, she was not crying.

"Harry…I fuck people for information! Of course, I understand. And you defended me in there. I understand what you're doing. But, that doesn't mean I have to _like_ it," Tonks cried out.

Harry swallowed, nodding.

"I know, I know. Tonks, I'm sorry...your uncle…"

"That _man_ isn't just my uncle. He's a murderer and an arsonist. He's a sadist and he's cruel. Are you going to let _that_ kind of man _fuck_ you? I've had sex with selfish, gluttonous, greedy men but, Voldemort...Voldemort is a _bad man._ He's going to _hurt_ you," Tonks shouted, trembling and Harry's eyes widened.

She was afraid that he was going to be hurt. It made his heart swell with love and respect. This woman had been the only one that had looked past the political implications of his deal and had been worried for his actual well-being.

"I love you so much," Harry whispered. "You're what I thought have an older sibling might be like."

Tonks' breath caught in her throat. "Oh, Harry."

"But...Voldemort knows a lot. He knows people and I genuinely believe that he will help us win. And I will do what my people need. No matter the cost."

 **MIRROR**

"I'm tied to a post."

"My wife is a power-hungry bitch."

"We were bested by children."

"My _son_ is the king, gods help us all."

Crimson eyes narrowed and the Dark Lord glowered at his lieutenants.

"When did this become confession hour?"

Severus refrained from commenting on his Lord's hostility. The man had just learned about his twin sister's murder. He was entitled to his rage. As long as his feelings dissipated before they traveled home, he would be fine. If they didn't, it would be unpleasant. The Dark Lord would look for someone to torture and if they didn't happen upon any unsuspecting Muggles, Lucius and he would have to do.

"We were only stating the obvious," Lucius said, calmly. He winced at the Dark Lord's dangerous hiss of warning.

Lucius craned his neck to look at his Lord. The powerful man had allowed himself to be tied to the post again, this time with enchanted chains. All in good faith, the Dark Lord had said. Lucius had no doubt that his Lord could escape quite easily.

Instead, he stared up at the moon in silence. The Malfoy Lord wondered if he was mourning the death of his sister.

"Why are we still here? We could've escaped by now," Lucius declared.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"We aren't escaping. Would you like to be one of the first to die in this war?" Severus snarled before his Lord could respond. "That boy in there couldn't beat Bellatrix but, Draco, easily. He will destroy this empire and he will destroy us. Your son is a _menace_."

Lucius sighed, tipping his head back against the post. Lucius had long known that his wife was jealous of Bellatrix but, he'd never thought her capable of killing her own sister. Blood was blood and you never harmed blood.

"Aye, he is," Lucius murmured.

His son was spoiled. Rotten like old milk and knew far too little and had far too much power.

"My Lord, are you sure about this?" Severus asked, daring. Lucius hummed. Only Severus could get away with questioning their Lord.

"What?" Voldemort said, his lips curling back.

"You have the Death Eaters at your disposal. We could take control from Narcissa's brat and put you on the throne. It is the safer option," Severus said, immediately, earnestly.

Voldemort hummed. "Being on the throne severely limits a person's power if they aren't absolutely beloved. There is no love lost between the people and me, Severus. This is the way," he said.

"You really think the boy won't go back on his word?" Severus asked doubtfully.

"I don't break my promises."

Lucius and Severus jerked, bewildered by how quietly Harry Potter had moved. Voldemort looked unsurprised. Harry glanced at the pink-haired woman and she pulled her red cloak tighter around her, moving her wand in an intricate way, opening the cage door. She pulled it open for Harry and he entered.

"You didn't eat," Harry said, his voice soft. He settled on his knees in front of the three men and smiled.

Severus was struck by how beautiful Harry Potter was. His image within the Pensive hadn't done him justice. This boy was lean and moved with a grace that Severus had never seen. He was _dangerous_.

Harry broke the bread into three even pieces and offered them to Severus and Lucius. The two Death Eaters had been bound with their arms by their sides instead of behind the post as the Dark Lord had been bound. Severus and Lucius had to twist and control but they ravenously bit into the bread.

"Will you feed me?" Voldemort taunted.

Harry sneered and stuffed the bread into Voldemort's mouth.

"There. Fed. Like a _dog_ ," Harry said. He turned his gaze onto Lucius and Severus, his eyes softening. "Would you like water?"

"Please," Severus said as he swallowed the dry bread.

Harry looked back at the pink-haired woman. Her gaze was still hard and she looked anywhere but at the Dark Lord. She reached out of her cloak, offering a flask of water. Harry took it and pressed it to Severus' lips. He drank greedily, his pallid face gaining some color back. Severus looked at Harry. _James Potter's_ son had just fed him food and water. Food and water to _prisoners_ , at that. This boy was _dangerous_. He was kind to his prisoners and he was hard with his army. For the first time, Severus could see what their Lord might be able to make him into.

"Thanks for the food, sweet—"

Harry stuffed the flask into Voldemort's mouth and hissed, "Have some water. Asshole."

Harry pulled the flask out and glared. Voldemort smirked. He turned to Lucius, offering him some water. Severus frowned.

Harry Potter wasn't like his father.

"You're not like your father."

The words slipped before Severus could stop them. Voldemort and Lucius glared at him. Severus had never _voiced_ his observations so matter-of-factly to anyone but his Lord. But, in this boy's presence, his tongue had loosened. Harry Potter's lips curled into a rueful smile.

"I never knew him," Harry said. He stopped and looked over his shoulder and held the flash out to the woman. "Tonks...I know you're uncomfortable. Just go."

Tonks, and what an odd name, snatched the flash and with one last look at Voldemort stormed from the cage. She did the complicated ward charms again and flicked her wand, adding something more.

"One more leaves. It better be you. Lavender and Ted are in my room," Tonks said, voice hard.

"We can sleep in my room," Harry said. "I'll be up soon."

Tonks nodded once and stormed away. Severus' eyes followed her. Voldemort smirked at her and when he turned back to Harry, Harry was glaring. Voldemort swallowed, wondering what it would feel like to have this beautiful boy on his back, glaring up at him.

He was probably tight and definitely burned hotter than anyone Voldemort had ever had.

"So, you want to be King?" Voldemort asked.

Harry crossed his legs, leaning back on his hands.

"You know I do," Harry said instead.

"There is something you must learn to fully understand what it means to be King," Voldemort murmured as he looked at the boy. He admired how his face looked bathed in the light from the fire that danced between his fingers.

"And what is that, Kingmaker?" Harry murmured as he played with the fire, enamored with the light of the dancing flames that he had inherited from his mother.

Voldemort tilted his head. Harry _breathed_ with unspoken grace, but a grace that belonged to a battlefield. It wouldn't translate well to the dance floor. Harry would be a warrior king.

"The power that you inherit will isolate you," Voldemort said shortly. Harry's lips twitched into a half-smile as he continued to play with the flames.

"I'm sure it will."

Voldemort shook his head. "No. You don't understand," Voldemort said sharply. "All beings wish to believe in something greater than they are. They want to be reassured that there is something or someone that can make a mistake greater than their own. They want to do as they wish, and so, they put that blind trust into someone greater. _That_ is how gods are made. How monsters are born."

Harry finally looked up at Voldemort, his smile gone. His green eyes narrowed as he stared at him. For a moment, he looked so much like Helena that it hurt. Voldemort faltered. When he looked at Harry again, he looked nothing like the fifteen-year-old girl that he had murdered.

"I'm not trying to be a god or a monster."

"No. You're trying to be both. And that is how this power will isolate you. A king has no friends. Only subject and foe," Voldemort said sharply. Harry looked at Lucius and Severus. The two men were staring straight ahead. Harry smiled.

"Are you not my friend, Lord Voldemort?"

Voldemort frowned. "No. I am not."

"No," Harry agreed. "You're so much more. I would see you undone, Voldemort."

There was something eerie about the boy. He was just like his mother in that their eyes spoke of someone years older. Someone that had suffered. Harry Potter had many faces. In the dark, this was one of them—mysterious and cold. Underneath it all, Voldemort could see Harry. A scared little boy-prince without a crown.

"If I had a choice, I would see you dead," Voldemort retorted.

Harry gave a breathy laugh, standing to his feet. As he walked away, he tossed over his shoulder, "And yet, I shall see you undone first."

 **MIRROR**

Harry waited. Tonks stood by his side, Ron on his other. Ron had attempted to apologize for his comments the night before but one look from Tonks had silenced him. Harry would let him stew for a bit. Ron's words still stung.

The Order meeting room was deserted but for the trio and Bill and a newly healed Charlie that waited in the corners. This ceremony was not for prying eyes. The children were outside still, peeking behind tents and corners at the three fearsome men looked away in the cage of wood and iron. People were curious and after the deal struck yesterday, even more so. But, this wasn't for their eyes. This was war.

"Good morning, sweetling."

Harry's eyes narrowed as Ginny, McGonagall, and Moody stalked into the room, heavily guarding their dangerous prisoner. Voldemort looked a little worse for wear, covered in dirt, stubble marking his chin and cheeks. He had not slept. Harry knew because he hadn't slept either. Instead, he'd sat by the window and stared into the cage as Tonks slept in his bed.

"Good morning, Voldemort," Harry said, voice low.

Voldemort smirked as if he had just won something. Harry supposed that he had. Voldemort would be getting everything he wanted. Vengeance, his life, and into Harry's pants.

Ginny pushed Voldemort in between his shoulder blades. Voldemort strode forward, his hands bound in front of him now. Ron immediately stepped in front of Harry as the Dark Lord approached as if he couldn't help it. Voldemort came to a stop, an eyebrow raised.

"You'll forgive me if I ask you to step out of the way, Weasley," Voldemort drawled.

Ron growled low in his throat as he stepped to the side again.

"Let's review the terms," Moody said, gruffly. He limped forward and crossed his arms, watching between Voldemort and Harry, suspiciously. "You will be our spy. You will directly report to the Order. You will follow orders. You will instruct the Prince in political affairs and magical learning. In exchange, you will receive mercy and the Prince's...virginity. Non-compliance is not an option. Is this agreed upon?"

Voldemort stared at Moody for a long time, eyebrow raised. He looked down at Harry and snorted. It was so undignified that it shocked a laugh out of the Prince of Gryffindor.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I'm not making deals with Alastor Moody. I'm making a deal with you. Why does he speak for you?" Voldemort asked. Moody colored, blood rushing splotchy to his scarred face.

"He doesn't," Harry said, swiftly ignoring Moody. He could practically feel Tonks' satisfaction radiating off of the woman.

Voldemort took a step closer to Harry until they were only inches apart. Harry craned his neck to look into the man's face. The man was a good foot taller than him. It was a little disconcerting.

"Then. What are _your_ terms?" Voldemort asked, his voice soft.

Harry cleared his throat. "You will be _my_ spy. You will directly report to _me_. You will follow _my_ orders. You will instruct me in political and economic affairs and magical learning. In exchange, you will receive mercy, vengeance, and my virginity. Non-compliance is not an option. Anything else?"

"Protection for Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape and the rest of my Death Eaters. Effective upon the moment we finish this deal," Voldemort said immediately.

Harry's eyebrows rose. He tried to read the Dark Lord's face but, Voldemort just stared at him with crimson eyes, undecipherable.

"Your Death Eaters have committed terrible crimes," Harry said.

"But, they are mine," Voldemort said, sharply.

Harry hummed and looked over at Ginny. Ginny was ashen. Harry remembered what she had said about Travers and Dolohov. Harry cleared his throat and looked back at Voldemort.

"No," he decided.

The Order members relaxed.

"Then, I think we're finished here," Voldemort said, jerking against the magical chains.

"No, we're not," Harry corrected. "Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy have immediate pardon. Upon your performance, we'll further discuss the remainder of your Death Eaters on a case by case basis. I am liable to say that I will most likely execute Dolohov and Travers on sight. Are we in accord?"

The words felt awkward in his mouth. He felt just like what Ollivander called him. A boy without a crown.

Voldemort stared at him for a long time. Harry stared in wonder. Harry couldn't read the man at all. He was in perfect control of himself. This was the Kingmaker. He would teach Harry how to do that. How to be in control. Harry thought he was already learning from the man.

"Aye," Voldemort decided. He cleared his throat. "Who will be our Bonder? Perhaps, my lovely ni—"

Harry's knee jerked up into the other man's groin with such punishing effort that Voldemort stumbled into the table, his chains clanking. His face went ashen. Harry winced in sympathy but maintained his composure otherwise. Tonks' lips curled into a wide and vindictive grin. Ginny's lips cracked into a smile and McGonagall, wordless and stern, had an approving glint in her eyes.

"Oh… _oh_ … that was…" Voldemort grunted, his eyes closed as he tried to compose himself again.

When he opened his eyes again, fury burned in his eyes. Harry rolled his shoulders back and smirked.

"I don't regret that," Harry said, holding his head high.

Voldemort hissed. "Pick the fucking Bonder."

Harry turned to nod at McGonagall when a fist collided with the side of his face. Harry stumbled to the side, his lip dripping blood and he stared, wide-eyed at Voldemort. The man didn't even look like he had moved. The Dark Lord's teeth were bared.

"What the _fuck_?" Ron snarled, taking a step forward.

"First lesson, sweetling: don't look away from the enemy. It's how you get killed. You watch. Until they make a mistake. Have I made a mistake yet?" Voldemort asked.

Harry's cheeks flooded with humiliation and he took a step forward, his fingers fisting in Voldemort's jerkin, pulling him forward.

" _Yes_ ," he snarled. "Don't _fuck_ with the people I care about. Madame McGonagall."

McGonagall stepped forward and Harry held out his hand to Voldemort. Voldemort took Harry's hand between his own and brought it up, brushing a kiss to Harry's knuckles. Harry rolled his eyes and glared at the man.

"Do you remember what we spoke about this morning?" Tonks hissed in Harry's ear. Harry nodded before turning to McGonagall. The Leader of the Rebellion drew her wand pressing the tip to their joined hands.

"Will you, Lord Voldemort of House Slytherin, instruct me in the political affairs and economic workings of the Albion Empire and the world to the best of your ability?" Harry asked.

"I will."

A fiery flare of white magic shot out of McGonagall's wand and wrapped around Voldemort and Harry's hands. It squeezed their palms closer together. Harry swallowed hard.

"Will you, Lord Voldemort of House Slytherin, instruct me in the ways of magic and war to the best of your ability?" Harry demanded.

"I will."

Another rope of magic bound them together.

"Will you, Lord Voldemort of House Slytherin, be loyal to my cause, obeying and guiding me, Kingmaker to his King, swearing never to betray me, in perpetuity?"

"I will."

A rope of light.

Harry's hand tightened in Voldemort's and Voldemort took another step closer, his eyes serious.

"And will _you_ , Prince Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, swear vengeance, mercy, and your virginity to me in exchange for my undying loyalty and all the knowledge and power that I possess to your war table?" Voldemort asked, solemnly.

Harry watched him, scrutinizing, waiting for the trick. The Dark Lord was a man but, he was a very old man that had lived far too long with all the Dark magic coursing through him. This was a man that had forged an empire through sheer will and blood.

"I will," Harry rasped.

The last rope burned around them and the ropes fused together, burning a bright red for a moment before it dissipated into the air, sparks floating around the room. Harry didn't let go of Voldemort. He stared up at the man and swallowed. Voldemort stared back, calmly.

"Is there someone wrong with my face?" Voldemort deadpanned. Harry flushed but still didn't release Voldemort's hands to the disturbance of the witnesses.

"I...no. There's nothing wrong with...your face."

Voldemort smirked. "If there's nothing wrong, could you possibly release my hand from your custody?"

Harry's cheeks grew even redder and he dropped Voldemort's hand. He turned away. Moody looked like he had indigestion. The Weasleys were red and Tonks looked too hostile. Only McGonagall looked pleased. She leaned in, whispering.

"You did well, your Highness," she rasped, so low that only Harry could hear. Harry's lips quirked into a smile. McGonagall turned back to Voldemort, eyes cold. "Ronald, Ginevra, William, and Charles. Escort Lord Voldemort back to his...accommodations."

The Weasleys moved immediately, Bill and Charlie flanking the Dark Lord. Ron and Ginny followed after them.

"Could you...make sure he bathes before he shows up in my room later? If you could that, that'd be great," Harry drawled, awkwardly. Ron sputtered and Bill and Charlie smothered their snorts of incredulous laughter.

Tonks snorted. "I'll take care of it." She turned to McGonagall and Moody. "I'd like to speak with the Dark Lord. If that's okay, Madame."

Moody frowned, shaking his head. "That won't be—"

"Nymphadora."

The room chilled. Tonks slowly looked to Voldemort and he stared back at her, crimson eyes half-hooded.

"He knows your name," Charlie frowned.

Tonks didn't look away from Voldemort. "Don't call me Nymphadora," she said, voice cold. "Only my mother called me that."

"Nymphadora," Voldemort repeated as if daring her to talk back again. Tonks cleared her throat and lifted her chin. "We will speak."

"Tonks…" Harry said, full of warning.

"What does this concern?" McGonagall asked, voice hard.

Voldemort lifted his chin. "Family affairs. Nymphadora, sit down. Will the Prince allow me to speak with her?"

Everyone was looking at Harry again. Harry cleared his throat and looked at Tonks. She pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing to the one opposite her. Voldemort sat down, staring at her, resting his chin on bound hands.

"Madame," Harry said. McGonagall sighed, heavily, and even as Moody muttered under his breath. "We'll leave. Weasleys stands outside the door. When she knocks, escort Lord Voldemort to a bath. Tonks, come to my room afterward."

"Yes, your Highness," Tonks said, firmly.

The Weasleys all murmured to each other but, Harry ignored them, sweeping from the room, McGonagall on his heels.

Tonks stared at her friend and she waited as Moody limped out with Fendwick following after him. The Weasleys were the last to leave. Ginny and Charlie stopped in the doorway.

"You seriously want us to leave you with _him_?" Ginny demanded.

"He's bound. What can he do to me?" Tonks drawled, leaning back in her chair. She looked at Voldemort and he smirked at her. Tonks' lips twitched.

"A hell of a lot. He calls you 'Nymphadora', Tonks," Charlie hissed. "Remus, won't be happy about this."

"Remus will mind his fucking business because he won't be finding out, now will he?" Tonks retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. She glared at Charlie with such vitriol he flinched. Tonks made herself relax and she smiled at one of her oldest friends.

"We'll be right outside the door," Ginny insisted.

Tonks nodded, warily and the door shut closed. Tonks raised her wand, slowly casting layers of protective charms. The Muffling Charm, the secrecy wards, Dark magic detecting. She relaxed in her chair as the final bright purple spell erupted for her wand, exploding into little lavender sparks, showering down around them. Voldemort hadn't flinched.

"Voldemort—" Tonks began.

Voldemort hummed. "I'm sorry, who?"

"That's your name," Tonks retorted.

"To you? I'm not so sure," Voldemort demanded.

Tonks crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. Gruffly, she said, "Uncle."

"Niece."

They regarded one another and Voldemort watched as her pink hair melted away, lengthening to her shoulders, turning a mousy brown. It was only a few shades lighter than Andromeda's but, their hair curled in the same way.

"You're very much like your mother," Voldemort said, solemnly.

Tonks stiffened in her chair. "I'm not here to discuss my mother," Tonks said, voice sharp.

"Then what are we discussing, Nymphadora?" Voldemort drawled.

Tonks burned, and she winced as her hair turned bright red, giving her away. Voldemort leaned back in his seat, smug. She had lost control and she hadn't done that since control had been beaten into her as a little girl. Tonks tugged the bright red cloak tighter around her.

" _Don't_ call me...never mind," Tonks hissed, letting out a long breath. Her hair slowly darkened to brown again. "I'm just warning you. If you hurt Harry tonight, I will _end_ you."

Voldemort sneered. "It is not in my best interest to hurt the Prince of Gryffindor. I am loyal to him. In perpetuity. Do you know what that means?"

Tonks barked a terrible laugh. "Forever."

"Yes, forever," Voldemort snarled back.

Tonks sat back in her chair and frowned. Her rage drowned out of her and she sighed, her bones aching in her skin.

"Tell me...what happened that night," Tonks whispered.

Voldemort frowned. "We're not here to discuss your mother."

Her words sounded sour, repeated back to her.

"I know. Tell me what happened to my father," Tonks snarled.

She looked at this man that Harry _wanted_ because, no matter what he said, Tonks knew lust when she saw it. She saw that Harry had never wanted a thing in his life, or never knew how to ask for anything, and of anything and anyone, he wanted this man. This man when he could have any man in the entire world.

They sat in silence, Voldemort staring at her. Tonks sighed and shook her head. She stood from her chair, scraping the legs against the ground.

As she went towards the door, he said, "Your mother ran away three times. I dragged her back each time. The last time...she found your father. Lily was… I suppose eleven. When you were born. My father was unhappy with your mother leaving. She married below her station. A Mudblood. He was quite unhappy. As was I. They sent me to find her. And when I did find, I was angry. An heiress of Slytherin...marrying a _Mudblood._ "

Tonks' eyes narrowed. "Your future queen is a Mudblood, I hear."

Voldemort laughed humorlessly.

"The Lady Granger. An uninteresting girl that quickly _became_ interesting with a single letter," Voldemort said, softly, and there was something appreciative about his tone.

"What happened next?" Tonks demanded.

"I found your mother and I confronted her about you. You were only two. Your hair was the same alarming shade of pink as it is now," Voldemort said. "Your mother claimed to love your father. She said that she didn't want to be involved in Bellatrix and my machinations. She was done with our lifestyle. But, I reminded her. Of the vows."

Tonks' hair brightened to pink as he spoke and she leaned forward, intrigued.

"What vow?"

"The words of our house. Family. We don't ever betray family. We honor the blood. Blood is _everything_. And I saw her leaving as a betrayal of _everything_. And so, I murdered her husband. She screamed and cried for me to spare him. I ignored her. I made her think I killed _you_ before I dragged her away and made her watch the cottage she had been living in for the past year burn down," Voldemort said, so cold that Tonks shivered and pulled her red cloak tighter around her body.

She bit her lower lip.

"And me? Why didn't you kill me?" Tonks prompted.

Voldemort leaned forward.

" _You_ didn't betray the blood. You are a Slytherin. You are family. You are my sister's child. Blood of my blood."

 **ON THE WALL**

"A council meeting. Do you think I'm expected to say anything?" Hermione asked.

Luna looked at her lady with a dreamy glint to her eyes. "I know a lot, my Lady, but I could never claim to know what goes through the King's mind."

Hermione scowled. Luna looked away, pleased with herself. Hermione let out a long sigh. There were many things she _wanted_ to say to Draco. She wanted to let him know that he was cruel and cowardly. She wanted him to know that he was an awful bastard that she wished to hell.

But, without a wand, any of those words would be a death sentence.

Unless the Dark Lord had gotten her letter.

"Do you think Voldemort received the falcon?"

Luna nodded. "I do."

"How can you be so sure? He would've come back the second he'd heard it," Hermione questioned.

Luna's lips curled into a smile and she squeezed Hermione's hand reassuringly as they moved down the Gargoyle Corridor. Hermione frowned when they stopped in front of one gargoyle that seemed to have a life of its own, grunting and growling at them.

"I can't be sure. You don't always need to _know_ , Hermione. I do not know if the Crumple-Horned Snorkack is native to Albion or only to the City-States but, I _believe_ ," Luna said, voice soft.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do you _believe_ we'll ever find the council room?"

"We have," Luna said as the gargoyle jumped aside. "We needed a password. But, since we don't have one. Someone will let us in."

That someone stared at them, a guarded look on his face. He was a tall, imposing man with dark brown hair and a long scar running from his right temple, over his eyes, and to his jaw. His right eye was milky, blindness clouding his sight forever. He might've been handsome if it weren't for the scar. His chainmail and black robes clued Hermione in. Death Eater.

"Lord Lestrange," Luna said, curtseying. The man looked at her for a long moment, too long, before he looked to Hermione. He bowed to her.

"Lady Granger," he said, with a voice that was rough, nearly a growl.

Hermione curtseyed. "Lord Lestrange."

He turned sharply and walked up the stairs that presumably led to the council room. Luna was staring at the man, a curious look in her eyes.

"Who is that?" Hermione whispered as they linked arms and walked up the long spiral staircase.

"That is Lord Rodolphus of House Lestrange. He is Rabastan Lestrange's older brother. They are both Death Eaters. Rodolphus was once betrothed to Bellatrix but, when she took the throne, she broke the engagement," Luna murmured and Hermione nodded. She touched her right temple, tracing down a rough pattern of Rodolphus' scar.

"And the scar?"

Luna looked away. "A souvenir from the deathless."

Luna turned away and sped up the stairs, pulling away from Hermione. Hermione's eyes narrowed on the young woman's back. Luna had something to do with that scar. Hermione pursed her lips and told herself that she would get to the bottom of _that_ soon enough. If she had to do through pure snooping, she would.

"This way, Lady Granger," Lord Rodolphus called.

Hermione hurried up the stairs and emerged into the room. She stared, wide-eyed at the circular room. It was the most wonderful room Hermione had ever seen in her life.

It was enormous, divided into three large areas and two sets of stairs that led up to a loft. The first area of the office was filled with moving portraits of battles. She saw the battles against the Tabooed. The closest portrait had to be a painting of what had to be Morgin on the back of a fire-breathing dragon, facing against Queen Helga in the West, Afallon. There were more portraits but they were farther down. The second area was a large dais that dominated the room, a crescent-shaped table on top of it. In the middle was a large floating map, House sigils marking strongholds and loyalties.

The third area, deeper into the room was a sitting area.

Hermione focused on the council.

Draco sat dead center, the golden crown on his head. The seat on his right was open, presumably for Hermione. Rodolphus Lestrange sat next to the empty seat. Sitting to Rodolphus' left was Hermione's step brother, smirking at her with his bright green eyes. Then, next to him was Antonin Dolohov. She left the executions with his face seared into her mind. He smiled lasciviously at her. Hermione cringed.

On Draco's other side was Narcissa. Next to her was Walden MacNair and then a boy, barely a man, that Hermione recognized as Vincent Crabbe.

"Your Grace," Hermione said, tonelessly as she swept into a low curtsey.

Draco gave her a cruel smile.

"By my side, my love," Draco commanded.

Hermione moved immediately, climbing the steps to the dais. She felt a hand wrap around her wrist and she looked down at Narcissa. Hermione mustered a weak smile. Narcissa's smile was cold.

"Thank you for inviting me, your Grace," Hermione said, softly.

"There are no empty seats at the council table. You are a filler for my brother," Narcissa said, coldly. Hermione flushed. Narcissa looked around the table, and then her eyes softened as she looked at her boy. "Shall we begin, your Grace?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco decided. "I call my first council meeting as King into order."

There was a sound: the toll of a bell. Hermione felt the magic wash over her and she relaxed into her chair, wide-eyed. Lord Rodolphus leaned forward, a strange look on his face.

"Your Grace, your soon to be lady-wife is not the only one standing here as a placeholder, correct?" Lord Rodolphus asked, a sharpness in his eye, on his tongue.

The young king looked up, looking at his mother and then looking at the rest of the table.

"I am the King. I must surround myself with people that share my vision. My father has not fought in the army for many years, having been at my uncle's side. Severus Snape is a baseborn man that held far too much power. I have named Antonin Dolohov as Commander of the Cavalry and the Lord of Whispers is now my most-trusted comrade, Blaise Zabini. Do you take issue with your king's decisions, Lord Rodolphus?" Draco rattled off as if he were reading from a script.

Lord Rodolphus paused for just a moment, looking from Antonin Dolohov to Hermione's step-brother.

"Can I assume that the Dark Lord remains Chancellor, your Grace?" Lord Rodolphus drawled.

"For now," Draco said.

Narcissa pressed her hand over her son's and smiled. "Absolutely, Lord Rodolphus. My brother knows the law of this land better than anybody. I daresay no one can replace him."

Lord Rodolphus looked between the two for a long moment before he relaxed in his chair, nodding. Hermione swallowed hard. So, the Dark Lord was Chancellor. That made him presider of Justice. It made him second-in-command in the kingdom and no one knew it. That was how he had stayed nearly blameless for years.

"Your Grace, what is the first task that we attend to?" Lord MacNair asked, his hands clasped on the table.

Draco looked at his mother _again_. Narcissa inclined her head and Hermione watched with narrowed eyes. Draco was asking for permission, deferring to his mother like the boy that he truly was. The boy king needed his mother to lead him.

"The coffers of Hogwarts Castle are filled and our debts with Gringotts are settled. However, as the civil war brews, I have decided that we should begin to build a war fund. We will instate a tax upon the people. For nearly two decades, we have made life easy for them. We have prospered. Our taxes have been low. But, it is wartime and war is expensive," Draco declared, with false gravitas and authority.

Hermione felt dread coil in her belly.

"What do you propose, your Grace?" Lord Dolohov asked.

"I have conferred with the Lady of the Coin, my Lady Mother, and have decided," Draco said, as firm as he could. The boy-king looked around his council table. "Three galleons from the noble Houses of Albion every month. Three galleons from the vassal purebloods, to be collected every other month. Five galleons from the half-blood households, every other month. Seven galleons from Muggle and Mudblood families every fortnight."

"You can't do that!"

Hermione swallowed, biting her lower lip as she looked down. Her outburst had silenced any other protest a council member might have had. Draco's expression hardened and he turned molten silver eyes onto his future bride. Hermione swallowed and then looked him in the eye, her jaw flexing.

"You forget your place, my Lady. Your opinion holds no weight here. Here you _ask_ permission to speak," Draco snarled.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Your Grace, may I have permission to speak?"

"You may," the boy-king said through clenched teeth.

"Your tax is unfair. In the empire, few Muggles or Muggleborn families can afford such a tax. You are setting them up to _fail_ ," Hermione insisted. She refused to look at her stepbrother's face.

Draco's face twisted from irritation to outrage to a menacingly dark look that promised Hermione a punch to the face. She clenched her own fist, willing herself not to punch the king in the face herself. Hitting him, surrounded by his followers, when she didn't have a wand—a death sentence. Breathing was practically a death sentence around the boy.

"My Lady, do not speak of my empire like you know. You are foreign."

"As is my brother," Hermione retorted. "Your Grace, this is unfair. You are taxing the Muggles and Muggleborns astronomically high and then, you will lash out at them when they cannot—"

Draco's hand flashed out, grabbing at her face so hard, that she knew she would have purple imprints of his fingers on her chin and cheeks. He brought his face close to hers.

"Hold your tongue. Matters of the state do not _concern_ you," Draco hissed, squeezing hard. Spittle marked her skin. "If you speak again, I will not hesitate to use the Cruciatus on you."

"Your Grace," Lord Rodolphus said and Draco pushed her back with such force that Hermione's chair rocked. She swallowed her rage, ignoring Narcissa's emotionless regard. "The girl has a point."

"How so, Lord Rodolphus?" Narcissa asked.

Hermione turned wide, slightly watery eyes onto Lord Rodolphus. He didn't look at her, keeping his even one-eyed gaze on Draco's face.

"Such an announcement will raise further rebellion, your Grace. Especially within the East. Infrastructure is crumbling and when we announce higher taxes, the money won't go to improving that but, to a war fund. How does that serve the people?" Lord Rodolphus asked. "The Order will not be pleased. It will incite outrage. More people will join them. It's counterproductive."

"The Order won't stand a chance," Narcissa said, her voice cold. "We've just killed two of their top lieutenants."

Lord Rodolphus frowned at her as if she was a puzzle that he couldn't figure out.

"How could you know that, your Highness? As General of the Aurors, and the army at large, I think I'd know, best of all, the kind of chance the Order will stand," Lord Rodolphus retorted. "He Order is a highly trained group of rebels. Taking the Prewetts, alone, involved a joint effort between Death Eaters and the Aurors."

Lord Dolohov clapped his hands together, an easy smile on his face.

"It's quite lucky we have both of those resources," Lord Dolohov said, winking at the man.

Lord Rodolphus stared back, bored.

Draco gave a boyish smile. "He is correct. Both of you are, in fact. We shall send a joint task-force between the Death Eaters and the Aurors to a village as a warning. Predominantly Muggle of course. Now, which one to choose..."

Hermione swallowed her disgust. She searched for Luna, wondering if anyone was sane like her, would realize the insanity in this boy. Luna was gone, probably waiting at the bottom of the stairs for Hermione. Hermione made eye contact with Lord Rodolphus but, he looked disbelieving.

Narcissa leaned in, hissing in her son's ear. Draco was frowning, and nodding. Draco lifted his wand and waved it. Hermione watched as a group of gray pieces floated through the air. Some were marked with a snake and skull. Others were marked with an 'A' made of three wands. Hermione watched as they floated over to the marking of a town, on the border of the East and the North.

"Surrey," Narcissa declared. She looked nearly sad. "My sister, the late Queen, had a funny nickname for the village. It always made me amused when she called it 'Little Whinging' in jest."

Draco laughed as if he also found it funny.

"Send out a group of Aurors and Death Eaters. Burn it down," Draco commanded.

Lord Rodolphus cleared his throat. "No."

Hermione froze. She looked at Draco but, the boy-king seemed confused by the word. Hermione doubted he'd ever been told 'no' in his entire life.

" 'No'?" Narcissa asked with a raised eyebrow.

Lord Rodolphus gave her a frigid smile. "We do not serve the king just as we never served the late Queen. The Death Eaters are tied to the Dark Lord Voldemort by blood and ink. We serve no other. Without our Lord's command, we shall do nothing. However, I can provide you with Aurors."

Draco's eyes flashed and he growled, pointing his wand at Rodolphus.

"I am your king!" he roared.

Lord Rodolphus blinked. "But, you are not my Lord."

"It matters not!" Draco snarled. "Dolohov! Gather a group of Aurors. Send them to fight in my name! You will lead them. I command it. This council is adjourned!"

He stood from the table and stormed towards the exit. Blaise rose, nodding at Hermione with a cruel glint in his eyes. Dolohov and MacNair followed immediately, speaking softly to each other. Crabbe lumbered after them, wordlessly. Hermione stood, staring after the King.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned. Hermione stiffened when Narcissa wrapped her arms around Hermione in a tight hug.

Narcissa pressed her lips to Hermione's ear and whispered, "Don't play if the game if you're afraid to lose."

Narcissa pulled away from Hermione with a chilly smile. Hermione watched the Duchess of the East slink off from the room, her head held high, navy blue skirts dragging across the ground. Luna stood in the doorway and she pressed herself to the wall, falling into a low curtsey as Narcissa elbowed past her. A heavy hand fell on Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione jumped and she was in the stare of a pair of mismatched eyes.

"Lord Lestrange?" Hermione asked.

"You should not have spoken Lady Granger," Lord Rodolphus said.

Hermione stared at him, cross. "What else was I going to do?"

"The King is a dangerous boy. I see how he treats you," Lord Rodolphus said.

Luna scurried in, stepping up on the dais and she cradled Hermione's face, a frown making her lips pout.

"He hurt you again," Luna whispered. She looked up at Lord Rodolphus and then looked back down, letting out a long sigh. "We'll put bruise removal paste on it. Why did he do this?"

"She spoke out against a tax that the King will be imposing," Lord Rodolphus said.

"I had to say something. I _had_ to. Someone had to," Hermione insisted.

"Aren't you afraid of him?" the man asked. "You don't have a wand."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Yes, I'm afraid. I've been afraid all my life. And I'll say something anyway."

Lord Rodolphus stared at her for a long time before he nodded, taking a step back. He bowed to her, looking at Luna for a long moment. Luna turned away with a long sigh. Hermione watched the secret exchange. Lord Rodolphus and Luna knew each other. At least someone knew something.

Hermione hoped _she_ knew what she was doing.

She had challenged the King's authority and she wondered if it would be worth it in the long run.

 **WHOM**

"Knocking!"

Harry sat up in his bed, looking up from his book. He shut it, nervously and waited as the pink-haired woman danced into the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Her hair was longer than normal, just down past her shoulders. Tonks pulled off her cloak, tossing it on the rack near his door. It caught around her wrist and she stumbled, pulling the rack down. Harry burst into laughter.

" _Fuck_ ," Tonks hissed as she righted the rack and carefully hung her red cloak. She muttered to herself and as Harry got over the momentary flash of levity, he felt his stomach turn again.

"How was your conversation with... _him_?" Harry asked, attempting to casually start the conversation.

Tonks pursed her lips. "Let's talk about something _else_. You know, they're making rabbit stew for supper? And Lavender and her friends are baking sweet cakes for the entire _camp_. I love sweet cakes, Harry."

She babbled on and on, attempting to distract herself just as he was. They were more similar than different, Harry realized, time and again.

"Tonks…" he whispered.

"Yes, Harry?" Tonks asked, brightly falling onto the bed and lying at the bottom, staring at her.

Harry squirmed, uncomfortable. She would understand his questions. He _knew_ she would. Tonks understood what he was doing. She had been in the same position countless times. She wouldn't judge him either. And, he supposed that she knew what she was doing.

"Tonight… I've never...I don't know how to… Tonks," he finished, helplessly.

Tonks frowned, sitting up. And then, the slow smile of a cat with cream spread across her face.

"You do know what to do?" Tonks asked. "Tell me if you've at least wanked before."

Hurry flushed, glaring at her. He nodded in confirmation of her last statement and Tonks crawled forward, laying back against the pillows next to Harry. Harry looked down at her and swallowed hard, wondering how he should phrase it. He should just be blunt. Tonks wouldn't give a damn and Tonks was the _only_ person that Harry would even consider talking about it all with.

Even thinking about talking to Ron or Ginny about the coming events made his stomach turn.

"Tonks...I don't...I know how it's done. When I lived in Little Whinging, men would say the things they wanted to do to me," Harry whispered. He leaned in. "He...they've been calling me a whore for as long as I can remember. But, I have no idea what _I'm_ doing."

Tonks hummed sitting up beside him, looking at him with consideration. Her skirts hiked up around her thighs. She drummed her fingers against her uncovered knees.

"I'm not sure I understand. Would you like to fuck him?"

Harry flushed. When he imagined it, he had been pressed down, a heavy weight on top of him, between his legs. He ached. Harry shook his head, furiously, looking down. Tonks grabbed his chin and tilted his head back up so that he would meet her eyes.

"Don't be embarrassed, Harry. I'm the one that gets fucked too," Tonks reminded him. Harry made a choking sound and nodded again.

"You're the only one I would trust to ask this of. The only one who understands," Harry choked out and Tonks smiled. Harry squirmed. He was glad when she didn't tease him or even laugh a bit.

"I know, Harry. It's okay. Tell me what you want and I'll tell you how to get it," Tonks promised. "Have you ever kissed anyone? Are you attracted to him, at least? It'll make it easier."

"He's kissed me before," Harry blurted out. "When we first met. And I'm so attracted to him, I could cry. He's beautiful. He's always in control and I get in my head and out of my head, and I lose it. I forget what I'm doing. What I'm supposed to be doing. All those things those men whispered about me...they want to hold me down and fuck me until I scream their names. Choke me on their cocks. I want him...to...oh gods, I can't believe I just _said_ that."

Tonks grinned, laughing. "I can't believe it _either!_ "

"Merlin, you see what I'm talking about?" Harry demanded, shaking his head. "I can't just...this has to be a goal-oriented exercise."

"Oh, it'll sure be an exercise if you want him to make you _scream,_ " Tonks cackled, trembling with her laughter and falling back on the bed. Harry groaned, slapping his embarrassment away from his cheeks.

"Tonks!"

"Alright, alright. You want to have control of yourself. Is that it?" Tonks sighed, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"This isn't about me. It's about the oath. About my people," Harry said, firmly.

Tonks shook her head. "It's about your _pleasure_ , first and foremost. You're a virgin. You deserve pleasure. But, you can have your pleasure and control too. I'll help you with that.

Harry gasped when Tonks tackled him and pushed him onto his back. He stared at her in astonishment as she shoved his book off the bed. It hit the floor with a heavy thud that nearly deafened Harry. Tonks swung her leg over him and straddled his hips, sitting back. Harry flushed an even deeper red and turned his head, averting his gaze from her perverted smugness.

She slowly guided his face so that he was looking up at her. She stared down at him, taking in all his insecurity and hesitancy.

"No, Harry...you _must_ look in his eyes. Always. Making love is in the eyes."

Harry nodded, cataloging what Tonks was saying. The older woman slowly pushed up her sleeves, arching her back and showing off her ample breasts. Everything she did suddenly oozed with sexuality. It was a performance that he had never witnessed. Another one of her transformations.

"It is said that Morgin of Afallon could finish a man with nothing but her eyes," Tonks sighed, with a slight smile, and Harry looked up at her, frowning.

"Finish a man?" he asked hesitantly. Tonks raised an eyebrow at him. Harry laughed, nervously, and he shuddered under her weight. "Oh…"

"Men traveled across the world for a night with Morgin of Afallon. Kings sold their palaces. Wizards burned her enemies for just a few hours with her. They say a thousand men proposed to her but she refused them _all_ ," Tonks purred, her voice growing distant as she recalled the great Dark witch that had fallen to Helga's might before Albion had become the empire that it was known to be.

As she spoke, she laced her fingers through Harry's and slowly brought his hands up on either side of his head. She leaned over him, a sultry smile on her face, her breasts nearly falling out of her dress. Harry stared at her cleavage, the soft hanging creamy flesh and looked up at her face again. He swallowed.

"Well, she sounds like an interesting woman," Harry said, trying to break the tense mood.

Tonks rolled her eyes, leaning down. "A _dangerous_ woman," Tonks corrected.

"I don't... I don't think that Voldemort would like it with me on top," Harry confessed. Tonks' eyes flashed and her grip on his hand tightened.

"You will _make_ him like it, my Prince. Men want what they've never had," Tonks said and she looked at him, pointedly. She was throwing his words back in his face. Harry swallowed, and nodded, slowly. "The Dark Lord is a brute. He takes men and women like a hound takes a bitch. Like a master takes his slaves."

Disgust leeched into her voice. Harry flinched at her tone and Tonks' eyes softened. She brushed Harry's red cheek with the back of her hand. Harry relaxed against her and wondered. The thought of the Dark Lord fucking him like a whore made him feel nauseous. On all fours, like something to be used. Harry looked up at the woman, looking at the legs on either side of him, her stomach, her breasts, the firm look in her eyes.

 _Nope._ Not attracted to her, Harry decided. But, imagining the Dark Lord between his legs, fucking into him. Harry groaned, looking away.

"Are you a bitch? Are you a slave, Prince Harry?" Tonks whispered, her voice soft.

Harry shook his head. Long locks of pink hair tickle the side of his nose, his cheek, the area around his eye.

Tonks straightened and pressed Harry's hands against her hips. Harry's fingers flexed involuntarily. Tonks smiled, running a finger down his cheek and then she arched her back again.

"Then, don't make love like a slave…" Tonks murmured and she began to move astride Harry, her hips twisting with promise and Harry's eyes widened at her wanton moves.

She writhed, her body undulating underneath his hands and he wondered if _this_ was what Tonks expected him to do. _This_ , which Tonks had perfected through years of learning. It had seemed brilliant, at the time, to ask a prostitute, especially one with a special set of skills, such as spying, like Tonks. Now, it made Harry realize that both he _and_ Voldemort were probably in for a world of disappointment.

Tonks possessed all the confidence in the world and Harry didn't understand it. But, then again, he supposed he did. The woman knew that she could do anything she wanted and she looked powerful from the position she was in. It was like Harry pretending to be confident in his ability as a prince when he had literally _no_ idea what he was doing. But, Harry knew why he had done it, why he had been combative with Moody and his faction. It was all about control.

 _This_ was about control.

Harry hooked his arm around Tonks' waist and flipped them. Tonks' back hit the bed with a soft thud and she gave a breathy laugh, her grin wide and approving. Harry now sat astride her, staring down at her. Tonks squeezed his wrist in encouragement.

"Very good, Harry!" she said, pleased.

"It's about control," Harry confirmed.

Tonks nodded. "Out there, he is the mighty Dark Lord, feared by all. But, in here, you have to make him _beg_ to have you. And he will do anything you ask of him. In here, you _own_ him."

 **IS**

The old, wretched woman stumbled her way free of the Vanishing Cabinet, shivering as the magic slid off her like slime. She looked around in bitterness. It had only been a few days, a week, at best. But, the room was already covered in a thin film of dust, forgotten by the empire. She was forgotten as she had always feared. The crone limped forward, her skirts brushing against old bloodstains, strands of black hair littered around the place that she had fallen.

She raised a hand to her head, stroking at the open scalp, covered by thin wisps of brittle white hair. She no longer made a noise when her hand came away with hair caught in her long nails. It was expected now. The old woman took another creaking step forward, and the marble floors swallowed itself, revealing the spiral staircase.

She began the descent.

Her old age had her stooped over, moving at a much slower pace but, she was not weak and she had not forgotten the way. Not yet.

When she reached the bottom, she looked around the dark room that she had shared with her brother. This room, too, looked forgotten. Even the diadem, Helena's diadem, was covered in dust. She could hear the scurries of rats, crawling over her gnarled feet. Where was her brother? Why had he not searched for her? Or had he not yet returned with the Fairest's heart?

The former Queen Bellatrix ignored the potions that had long burned out. She walked straighter towards the mirror, her black skirts brushing across the bloodstained stone floor. She stood before the looking glass, and stroked its frame, lovingly. She tried not to look at her face. She had once caught a glimpse of it, in the reflection of a window.

The ugly, twisted, lined face haunted her dreams.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall...who is the fairest of them all?"

Bellatrix felt the magic shifting underneath her hand. She watched as her own reflection was chased away by another and her stomach rolled. She didn't gasp but, she felt her heart stop. For just a moment before it began beating twice as fast.

The Fairest was, indeed, beautiful. Beautiful in his pleasure. He was on his back, a familiar head between his legs. Bellatrix watched her brother kiss bruises into the Fairest's thighs, watched her brother _worship_ this being, with lust and reverence in his crimson eyes. Bellatrix's stomach clenched and bile rose in her throat.

Her brother, her _brother_ , was giving this wretched boy pleasure. The Fairest's head was tilted back, bright, swollen lips parted as he moaned, like the wanton whore that he was. Her brother, her _brother_ was putting the pleasure of this boy first. Her brother, who took and took, notorious in his greed, was giving this _boy_ everything that she had once desired.

She was stricken with betrayal and she closed her eyes before she ate her own heart out of her chest in grief.

"Mirror, mirror, tell me this, who shall return us to former bliss?"

When she opened her eyes, the image had faded away, to her eternal gratefulness. Pained electric blue eyes watched her carefully before the mirror rippled to reveal a man.

It was a different man. Not the Fairest.

This man sat on a rock, in the middle of the ocean. Bellatrix could not tell if the man was young or old. He went from being an old decrepit man, gnarled and uglier than she, to a beautiful young man with bouncing blond curls and terribly cruel eyes. He was naked as a child and then, he looked at her, as if he could see her.

Bellatrix took a step back when he slipped into the sea, and his legs were suddenly covered in seaweed. Long, decorative shells and beads hung from his neck and his lips turned blue. His skin looked nearly translucent and slits appeared in his neck. He looked at her once more before diving deep into the sea, escaping her.

"Gellert, Warlock of the Sea, is the one you should see. But, beware his offers for he may be the end of thee."

 **FAIREST**

Harry waited, squirming in his robes. He paced up and down the length of his room, his stomach in knots, growing more and more jittery by the second. His mind raced a thousand leagues an hour. He glanced outside. It was dark. They hadn't set a time. Harry had just wanted the man bathed. It was best that it happened at night. He looked outside of the Burrow II again, into the enormous wooden cage.

Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape were still there but, with bedrolls this time. There were only two bedrolls. They were alone, speaking quietly while sipping rabbit stew from tin bowls. Snape looked up at him through the window and Harry jerked back, slamming the curtains closed. He turned around and swallowed, looking at his perfectly made bed to the oil lamps lit around the room.

It was too bright. Merlin, he didn't want to see every damn _moment_. He crossed to the oil lamp closest to the door, atop his wardrobe, next to the mirror and closed his fist. The flames died immediately. He slowly pulled off his glasses, setting them aside. The world was a little blurrier but, not too bad.

Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked terrified.

Merlin, that wasn't sexy.

He could hear Ron's heavy footsteps and quiet muttering to his sister. A lump developed in Harry's throat.

"Don't try anything funny," Ron snarled, pushing the door open.

"That means don't try to escape," Ginny warned, her voice much colder than Ron's festering rage.

 _He_ laughed, soft and cold, a hissing sound. "I think I'll be a little too preoccupied. You might want to put up some privacy wards. He looked like he's loud."

Harry's face flushed. He could imagine the two Weasleys blushing in embarrassment, and sure enough, he could hear their sputtering. Harry heard the door slam shut with finality.

The floorboards creaked under the Dark Lord's boots. Harry closed his eyes and his hands clenched into tight nervous fists at his side, flexing and releasing. He felt two broad hands settle on his waist and his breath rushed out of him when he yanked him back and he felt the man's bulging cock against his backside.

He could feel the man's breath against his ear. "Hello there, sweetling. Let me see your pretty eyes."

Green eyes found crimson and the older man's hair tickled his face, softly. Voldemort stared at him, unashamed of his lust. He lowered his lips to spot right behind Harry's ear and Harry shivered from the top of his head to his toes. His face burned and his breath hitched in his throat. Voldemort never took his eyes off of Harry's face.

"Please… be nice to me," Harry said, his breath stuttering as Voldemort pressed closer to him, breathing in the scent of his neck.

"I'm not a nice man, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, kissing the tiny bit of shoulder that peeked out of the neck of Harry's tunic. He sucked a bruise into his skin and Harry's knees buckled. Voldemort laughed, nipping at the skin, watching it turn red. "You're mine now, aren't you? After tonight, I'll _always_ own a piece of you."

Harry keened in the back of his throat. He turned in Voldemort's arms and looked up at him. Voldemort stared down at him, waiting. Harry would have to make the move. Harry hesitantly raised a trembling hand to cup Voldemort's cheek. He scraped his calloused hand over the bristles of stubble. Voldemort couldn't read anything. Harry pushed up and pressed a chaste kiss to Voldemort lips, gently sucking on his bottom lip. Voldemort kissed back, confused.

Harry jerked back as if the kiss had burned.

"Men used to tell me what they wanted to do to me," Harry said. He took a step forward, so sure of himself that Voldemort took a step back. "What do you want to do to me, Lord Voldemort?"

Voldemort's eyes burned and he took a step closer, backing Harry into the mirror. It trembled behind Harry but Voldemort reached up, steadying it. Harry's heart was beating in his throat.

"I'd _like_ to do much to you. Too much for a single night. I want to lay out and suck bruises into your thighs, rub my cheeks against all of your soft, untouched skin. I want to taste you, to see if you're sweet, _everywhere_. I'd suck your sweet hole until you came on my tongue. I want to finger you until you cum and drink you down. I want to teach you how to suck a man's cock. I want to _fuck_ you until you _cry_. Until you only know me," Voldemort hissed.

Harry gasped out a shaky breath and he turned his hot face against the cool glass. Fog clouded the glass for a second before it disappeared again. His cock was harder than it had ever been into his life. Harry turned defiant green eyes back onto the Dark Lord.

"What _will_ you do to me?" Harry asked.

Voldemort's eyes darkened. "I will give you so much pleasure that you forget your own name but, you will _never_ forget _me._ "

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Harry wasn't sure who moved first. All he knew was that they crashed into each other, mouth upon mouth, the sound of their kissing loud over the crackling of the flames. Harry moaned into Voldemort's mouth, and he raked his nails through the man's tunic and doublet. He searched for the buttons, eyes half-closed, sucking on Voldemort's tongue. Voldemort's hands moved from his waist to his ass, squeezing, kneading his flesh. Harry ripped open the doublet.

Buttons flew, clattering to the ground, as they stumbled towards the bed and Voldemort spun them so that Harry fell back against the mattress, bouncing once, twice. Voldemort stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at him for a long moment. Harry flushed, cheeks dark as he slowly spread his legs. Voldemort groaned and crawled onto the bed, sliding into the cradle of Harry's hips. Voldemort leaned up, tugging off his doublet and tunic, leaving him only in tight trousers. Harry groaned.

The man was _built_. Broad shoulders, the lines of his muscles clear in the firelight. The fire seemed to be growing brighter. Harry whimpered, running his hands up Voldemort's hard abdomen, tracing the lines of his pecs, dragging a thumb over the man's nipples.

Voldemort's hand slid under the small of Harry's back, and tugged, bringing Harry up. Harry tangled his fingers in the man's hair and kissed him again. This was a different kiss. It wasn't hot and messy like the ones they had shared before. This was filthy and meant to hurt.

Voldemort bit his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed and sucked the blood, shuddering with pleasure as he licked Harry's lips clean.

"I hate you," Harry whispered against the Dark Lord's lips.

Voldemort pulled back and stared at him. "Why?" he whispered, staring down at Harry. He slowly pulled Harry's robes open, as if he were unwrapping a gift for himself.

"You'll ruin me," Harry said, his voice breaking.

"You want to be ruined," Voldemort said. He caged Harry in, hands on either side of Harry's head.

Voldemort stared. He had been staring from the moment he'd seen Harry Wildfyre. Defiant green eyes, like summer. Lips that made him think of war. Pale skin. Dark hair spread across the white cotton sheets beneath them. Voldemort would start a war for the boy that wanted to be ruined.

The boy that wanted him.

Voldemort rucked Harry's shirt up, staring at pink nipples and he lowered his lips, laving his tongue across them until they were hard, pebbling from pleasure. Harry panted softly, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling, his lips moving with unspoken words. Voldemort dragged his tongue down the soft flesh, biting him, marking him.

"I'm going to cum," Harry said, breathless. Voldemort smirked and ground down. Harry jerked, one leg curling around the back of Voldemort's thigh.

"Then, cum," Voldemort said.

Harry's eyes narrowed on him and then, with a sudden show of strength, he twisted so that he was sitting astride Voldemort, staring down at him. Voldemort sat up immediately, cradling the back of Harry's neck. Harry shrugged off his robe and tossed it off the edge of the bed. He rocked down against Voldemort, rubbing his cock against Voldemort's, as he pulled his tunic over his head, leaving him shirtless.

His movements were so clumsy and jerky but, still, everything about this boy was erotic to Voldemort. His green eyes were half-closed as he frotted against Voldemort, stealing his own pleasure first. Harry let out a breathy moan and Voldemort slid his hands down Harry's bare back, grabbing at his ass and shifted him, grinding him just over his cock.

"You moan so prettily for me," Voldemort growled as his licked at the tender flesh over the hollow of Harry's throat.

Harry answered with another moan and then a longer keen where he shuddered, jerking in Voldemort's arms. Harry's head fell onto Voldemort's shoulder as he shuddered through his orgasm and Voldemort held him tight, moving him back and forth over his own erection. Harry panted softly in Voldemort's ear.

"Aren't you supposed to give _me_ pleasure?" Harry taunted, breathy. "I chased my own pleasure there."

Voldemort laughed and shoved Harry off his lap, unbuttoning the boy's trousers and yanking them down to his thighs along with his small clothes. He stared at his cock, a sizeable thing, already twitching in interest again. Voldemort dragged his fingers through the mess and sucked his own fingers clean, tasting Harry's cum, never taking his eyes off of him. Harry whined and squirmed his pants off until he was naked.

"What do you want?" Voldemort asked.

Harry swallowed. "You...we struck a deal. It's what you want. Just fuck me," Harry whispered.

"I'm not a rapist, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, his voice sharp. "And you don't want that either. What _do_ you want?"

Harry stared for a long moment and defiance entered his eyes again. He reached forward, ripping open the button of Voldemort's trousers, showing off the cut of his pelvis.

"Make me cry then. If you can," he challenged. He slowly crawled backward from under Voldemort until he was resting higher on the bed. "Oil is on the side table."

Voldemort stood, shoving his trousers down his powerful thighs, his cock bobbing. Harry stared at it, swallowing hard. Harry wasn't small, by any means. But, this man was _big_. Just what he needed a man with an enormous ego and a cock to match it.

"You're eager," Voldemort taunted, sliding back onto the bed, his cock pressed against the soft sheets. His face was between Harry's legs, his eyes raking over his unblemished thighs, his rosy half-hard cock, his balls. Voldemort turned his face into Harry's thigh, rubbing his bristly cheeks against it.

Harry shuddered. It burned. He burned.

"You're big," Harry said, swallowing hard. Voldemort looked up, smirking at the red rash spreading on the inside of Harry's thighs.

"Will that be a problem?" Voldemort asked, nipping softly at the base of Harry's cock. Harry groaned, planting his feet on the bed and spreading his legs wider, his toes curling into the sheets.

"Just an observa _tion_ ," Harry whined as Voldemort dragged his tongue up the length of Harry's cock.

Voldemort laughed. "You're much more articulate after the first orgasm. I didn't see that coming."

"I haven't seen you come either," Harry retorted, breathing heavily through his pleasure. Voldemort bent his head down again so that all Harry could see was the top of his head.

"Patience," Voldemort tutted. "Oil, now."

Harry reached over, blindly for the vial that Tonks had slipped to him before she had left him to bathe. Oil and _cleaning_ spells and seduction lessons. That was Tonks' first lesson. It made Harry's stomach burn and turn. He offered it to Voldemort as he licked and sucked at his thighs, at his pelvis, kissing his balls. Harry writhed, gritting his teeth to calm himself.

"I'm...gonna...cum _again_ ," Harry hissed.

Voldemort's fingers immediately wrapped around the base of his cock and squeezed, warningly. Harry jerked.

"No, you're not," Voldemort drawled. He took the offered oil and grabbed a spare pillow. With one hand, he lifted Harry by the small of his back, sliding the pillow underneath it.

Harry tried to close his thighs, feeling so completely exposed. He stopped himself, swallowing as Voldemort brushed a finger against the rim of his hole. He went rigid, a moan cracking its way from his ribcage.

"You're very noisy," Voldemort observed as he poured oil along his fingers and brought his hand back down. He laid down on his stomach, eye level with Harry's hole.

"Do I sound whorish enough for you?" Harry rasped. "Is this what they sound like when you fuck them? I wonder…do you usually fuck them on their stomachs or on their backs? They called me cocktease, you know. That I was a pretty little whore that wouldn't put out. Like it was against my nature. It isn't...do I sound whorish enough for you, Lord Voldemort?"

Voldemort stared up at him, very serious. Harry's stomach swooped.

Very carefully, the Dark Lord said, "You are not a whore."

"Promise?" Harry asked. He didn't expect an answer.

Instead, the Dark Lord looked back down and rubbed Harry's hole with the pad of his thumb before he slid his finger. Harry gasped, back arching, and he clenched down around the foreign appendage.

"You're going to break my finger," Voldemort said, laughing softly.

"Fuck you," Harry bit out.

"Fuck _you_ ," Voldemort retorted and he slid in a second, tugging at Harry's rim. Harry cried out again and his lashes fluttered. His fingers dragged down his stomach, grabbing onto his wet cock and he tugged, twisting just the way he liked. A hand clamped around Harry's wrist. "None of that. You're not going to spend again until I've fucked it out of you."

"You have a filthy mouth," Harry slurred.

"I have a filthy tongue too," Voldemort said.

Harry shook his head. "If you put your tongue in me, I _will_ cum and that'll be it. So, your tongue or your cock."

"Next time, then."

"You presume much, my Lord," Harry gasped as Voldemort scissored his fingers, taking his time to open him up, pulling his fingers to his rim and stretching. Harry knew he was watching him. Harry was both aroused and embarrassed. Or perhaps he was aroused by the humiliation. It was too much.

It was too bright in the room.

"Two more fingers," Voldemort promised.

"Tonks...Tonks said it would hurt," Harry whispered. "What if I want it to hurt?"

Voldemort stopped, suddenly. He looked at Harry like he was a gift from the gods.

Harry felt _beautiful_.

"It won't. If it hurts, I'm not doing it right. And you're more relaxed after the first orgasm. You want it to hurt, Harry Potter?" Voldemort whispered against his thighs.

"You said you'd make me cry," Harry snarled and he clenched down on Voldemort's fingers again, rocking on them, fucking himself on them. "You said you'd be nice."

"I said I was never nice," Voldemort corrected and he withdrew his fingers entirely, pouring oil on his fingers and slowly working three in. Harry gasped, breathing heavily through the stretch.

He felt full, almost too full. He was on the edge of uncomfortable and pleasured. Voldemort was bigger than his fingers. Still, Harry wanted it to sting. He wanted to feel it in the morning. He wanted to be ugly. He wanted to be ruined.

Voldemort thrust once, twice before he curved his fingers and pressed upon a spot inside Harry that made him _scream_. Voldemort's other hand tightened around the base of his cock, stopping the orgasm that crested inside of him. The fireplace lit with flames.

"What was _that_?" Harry gasped, rocking. Sweat beaded on his brow and his limbs trembled.

Voldemort smirked. "Again?"

"Y-yes... _no._ Put your cock in me," Harry demanded.

Voldemort snorted, shaking his head as he pulled his fingers out of Harry, leaving him aching. Harry felt open and empty, his hole clenching over nothingness. He moaned, squirming.

"You are _bossy_. I've never been in bed with someone as bossy as you," Voldemort quietly observed. He sat upon his knees and scooted closer, pressing the blunt head of his cock between Harry's thighs.

Harry swallowed, thinking back to what Tonks had told him as the head of Voldemort's cock pressed against his hole. _Bear down._ Harry keened at the burn as Voldemort pressed inside. The man stopped immediately, slowly rocking forward, easing himself in. And it burned. It burned like the Fire, and Harry's world narrowed to a pair of crimson eyes and the smell of salt and smoke. Voldemort groaned, tugging Harry's legs around his waist. Harry's back arched.

It was never-ending. The man fucked himself into him in tiny movements, and Harry swallowed his pleasure, throwing an arm over his face. This felt better than anything he'd felt in his life.

"Oh... _fuck…_ " Voldemort hissed.

Harry looked up at him. The man was even blurrier than before. His cheeks felt wet. He tasted smoke and salt on his lips. Voldemort leaned down, licking the taste away.

Voldemort rolled his hip again, and then, Harry felt his balls pressed against him. Harry reached up, gritting his teeth, and grabbed onto Voldemort's shoulders. With all his might, he flipped them and he cried out when Voldemort shifted within him prematurely. Harry gasped, falling forward as he sat astride Voldemort.

"I have never wanted in my entire life," Harry confessed against Voldemort's mouth and then he sat up, staring down at the man, flexing around his cock.

Voldemort groaned, choking over his own breath. He stared up at Harry like he was an apparition, like he was unreal. His hands fluttered for just a second and Harry smirked down at him. _He_ had made the Lord Voldemort uncertain. And then, Voldemort's hands tightened on his waist.

"What...are you doing?" Voldemort asked, confusion in his voice. He sat up on his elbows, hands still on Harry's waist. Harry pressed his hand against Voldemort's mouth.

Harry pressed his hands against Voldemort's stomach and rolled his hips. Harry let out a shuddering sigh. He tossed his head back and rose up before falling back down on Voldemort's cock. It felt good. So _good_. His stomach was turning inside-out. But, the angle was wrong. Harry rolled his hips again, sighing.

Suddenly, Voldemort was sitting up and Harry froze, his lips parted. He felt raw with the man right there, their breaths mingling. Harry raised nervous fingers onto Voldemort's shoulders and he rolled his hips. Voldemort stared at him, this beautifully complicated mess of a prince. Underneath the bravado and the beauty, the boy in his lap was an open wound, riding his cock like he was born to do it.

Voldemort thrust up, at just the right angle. Harry moaned, slumping against the man's chest, throwing his arms over Voldemort's shoulders, clinging to him. They fell into a rhythm, hips rolling, limbs slick with oil and sweat. Voldemort groaned, as he fucked up into Harry's tight, wet heat. Harry's eyes were more focused than they had ever been, his pupils tiny pinpricks in the brightness of the room. Voldemort pressed his lips to Harry's chin, his eyelids, his cheekbones, the bruises that littered his collarbone and shoulders.

"Look at me," Harry panted into Voldemort's hair. Voldemort looked at him. "Look at _me._ "

Voldemort looked at him, sliding his hand between their bodies, brushing his fingers against Harry's cock. "Yes?"

" _Yes,_ " Harry hissed and Voldemort's hand tightened around him, jerking him off hard and fast.

Harry rode him twice as fast, firm thighs working up and down as they found the right angle. Harry cried out, hitched sounds that grew louder and louder. Harry clenched down and suddenly, he burned so hot that the fireplace roared. The world turned brighter than anything. The sky was white, and the clouds were gone, and Harry _came._

Voldemort groaned as Harry clenched around him and he held the boy on his cock, fucking him through his orgasm. One look at those pink cheeks, those too-clear eyes, sent Voldemort over the edge. He groaned as he came inside Harry, his eyes fluttering closed. He fucked Harry through his orgasm even when the boy made sounds of overstimulation.

Voldemort's grip loosened and Harry groaned, nearly falling. Voldemort gasped back into reality, looking at the loose-limbed boy. Slowly, he laid Harry on his back and slid out of him. Harry whined, squirming from the stimulation.

Harry laid there for a second, staring at the man. Voldemort was breathing hard, looking over at the wall. Harry looked down at him. Harry's cum was splattered across Voldemort's stomach. Voldemort's cum was dripping out of him. He squirmed, wincing at the disgusting squelch. Voldemort looked back at him, sharply.

"I don't have my wand. I can't clean you," Voldemort drawled.

Harry closed his eyes and decided not to tell the man that it was in Tonks' possession. His eyes flew open when he felt sheets brush against his sensitive hole and his red, burning thighs. Voldemort very methodically mopped up the mess on both of them, tossing the disgusting sheet on the floor. He fell onto the bed with a quiet thump, on his stomach. Harry looked as the Lord's ass flexed.

"Thank you," Harry whispered.

Voldemort grunted.

Harry ached in places he hadn't thought it was possible to ache in.

"What did you mean...about never wanting in your life?" Voldemort asked, his voice muffled by the sheets.

Harry swallowed and turned his head to look at the man. "Why are you still here?" Harry asked instead of answering. "You could have escaped a long time ago."

"I know," Voldemort said.

"Then, why are you still here?"

Voldemort turned his head so that he was looking at Harry through narrowed crimson eyes.

"I told you that your parents threatened everything I held dear," Voldemort said. "I lied."

Harry swallowed, tugging the blankets around his naked body. He burned but, still he was cold. He wondered how Voldemort wasn't cold. He could see goose bumps running up the man's spine.

"You lied?"

Voldemort sighed. "Your turn."

Harry shivered. He reached out slowly, his hand on Voldemort's shoulder. Voldemort rolled onto his side so that was fully facing Harry. Harry dragged his hand down Voldemort's bicep, tracing lines there. It felt different now. Harry had clung to Voldemort in lust before. Is desperation. This was more complicated. _Kingmaker_. Harry didn't know if he believed in fate or the alleged prophecy but, he knew that their fates would be entwined until the end.

"I have never wanted anything in my entire life. I have been wanted. Desired. Lusted over. But, I have never asked for anything and no one has ever asked what I wanted," Harry said.

Voldemort grabbed the boy's leg and tossed it over his waist. He tugged Harry closer and Harry gasped. He whined, sore.

"It's okay to want," Voldemort hissed. "What do you want?"

Harry closed his eyes. "I want to be the person I'm supposed to be. I don't even know what that means yet."

"You are meant to be king. You will have it," Voldemort said. And Voldemort whispered his promise, "And I will have my vengeance."

 **OF**

Ginny raced forward on horseback, her teeth bared as she looked at the devastation. It had nearly been too late. The slaughtered villages were fallen, blood running through the streets. Fires and screams.

Ginny sounded the call, a shrieking sound. The red-headed Weasleys galloped through Little Whinging. The blazing heat made sweat pour down her forehead into her eyes. The air was too dry to stay for too long but, Ginny knew her duty. Ginny pushed sticky tendrils of hair from her eyes and pull forth her bow. She nocked an arrow and let it fly, watching in satisfaction as it landed in the back of an Auror. Shitty leather and armor for shitty knights of the realm.

"Nice shot!" Ron called.

Ginny grimaced at her favorite brother. Ron bared his teeth at her, battle-ax at the ready. He rolled his shoulders back, ready for a fight. She watched him ride forward, half-hanging off his horse, swinging his ax at one soldier, catching him in the back of his neck.

Ginny pulled another two of her arrows, nocking them, and letting them fly. Into a shoulder, into a neck. _Perfect._

The only Weasley girl didn't understand the Muggle Aurors. They had sided with the Slytherins despite their hatred for the lowest class. It didn't make sense to her. But, she supposed fear could do that to a person. Fear had made Harry sleep with the _enemy._ Or perhaps want. Ginny wasn't stupid. She knew what lust was. She had been confronted with it for the first time when she was only a child, on the cusp of womanhood.

Ginny reached back for another arrow and cursed when she saw there were no more. She pulled her wand.

" _ACCIO_ ARROWS!"

She heard them squelch free of bodies, and covered in strips of skin and blood, they settling into her quiver.

Then, she saw him.

Antonin Dolohov.

"Ginny!" Charlie called, full of warning.

So, he had noticed _him_ too. Ginny bared her teeth and went to race forward, the Killing Curse on the tip of her tongue. She was ready. She pulled a boy, aiming for a non-lethal part of him. She wanted him to _suffer_ first, as she had suffered for _years._

Her vision was cut off by another Auror. "Come here, you little bitch!" he snarled at a Muggle as she threw herself over the large dead body of someone who was probably her husband.

He raised his wand threateningly, and the woman cowered. A younger, whale-like young man was trying to protect her but, was trembling in fright. His pants were soiled with piss, probably out of fright. Ginny wouldn't judge him. There had been a time when she had been so scared that she had pissed herself too.

"NO, YOU DON'T!"

Ginny watched as her brother raced past, swinging his axe with all his might, separating the Aurors head from his shoulders. Ginny barely flinched as the man's head flew and his body slumped off the horse. Frightened, his horse galloped off into the flames.

The woman let out shrill screams, staring at the headless body. Ginny dismounted immediately, walking over to them. Their screams grew louder. Ginny knew she looked wild, her hair falling out of two long plaits, as much blood splattered across her cheeks as freckles. The tall skinny, horse-like woman stood in front of her enormous son, trying to protect him.

"Shh… stop screaming. Don't panic... we'll get you out of here," Ginny said, urgently, trying to guide them to a deserted alleyway between two abandoned cottages that led into the forest.

The woman shook her head, disbelieving, terrified. Her son blubbered, unable to form any words. His eyes tracked Ginny's wand. Unsurprising that he seemed terrified of magic-users. He'd learn to get over that at the camp.

"My...my husband...he's dead..he's _dead_...my son...I can't…"

Ginny touched the woman's shoulder and squeezed.

"Shh...I'm Ginny Weasley. I'm with the Order of the Phoenix. I'll help you. Hide this way...this way," Ginny whispered, tugging the woman along. Her large son lumbered after her, stepping over the broken body with a sob.

"What...what..what should I do? I don't know what to do?" the blonde woman sobbed and Ginny placed an awkward hand on the tall, skinny woman's shoulders. She made a comforting sound.

"You go down this alleyway and beyond the forest edge. I'll be back for you. I promise."

Without waiting for the woman to respond, Ginny spun around, pulling an arrow, nocking it, and letting it fly. The arrow whistled through the air, landed in the side of a man's head. Blood spurted forth and Dolohov jumped as the Auror that had been next to him suddenly slumped. Ginny growled at him and he stared at her interest.

Ginny mounted her horse and lifted her chin, arrogant.

Dolohov bared his teeth in a grin and he shot sparks into the air. The Aurors were retreating.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!"_ Ginny roared, feeling the jolt of Dark magic speed down her arm, the green Killing Curse flying through the air.

Dolohov Disapparated immediately and the horse fell, struck by her curse.

The Muggle Aurors tried to pull back, galloping away. Ginny wouldn't let them go without a fight. She felt feral and raw. Dolohov had escaped.

But, the others wouldn't.

 **THEM**

Harry woke up to his door being slammed open and he sat up, groggy. He squinted, making out Tonks' shocking pink hair and her revealing powder blue gown. The woman walked across the room and pulled the drapes apart, letting in streams of sunlight. Harry groaned, diving under his blankets to hide from the light.

"We need to light a match in here! It smells like a brothel!" Tonks laughed.

Harry groaned. "Pass me my glasses, please."

He felt the lightest of thumps as Tonks threw his glasses onto the bed. He reached for it, blindly and slid them onto his face. Tonks came into focus and he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Tonks was still grinning at him but, she was looking at his face. Harry looked down and groaned, pulling his covers up around him, hiding the hickeys that covered his chest, his collarbone, and his neck.

"You enjoyed yourself last night," Tonks smirked. She went to sit on the edge of the bed but, then, she paused, having thought better of it.

"How do you know?" Harry retorted.

Tonks laughed. "Did you have anything to do with all of the torches, lamps, and candles lighting suddenly?"

Harry flushed down to his nipples. "Um...maybe."

Tonks threw back her head and laughed with her whole body. "You woke nearly all of the camp. I don't think they realized what was going on but, _I_ did."

She went to the door and picked up a wooden basket, pulling out a vial and paste. She placed them on the side table in offering.

"Are you sore? It's pepper-up potion. And bruise paste," Tonks said, pointedly. Harry sighed, forgetting propriety. He let the covers drop around his waist and shook himself. He reached for the paste and slathered it onto his neck and jaw, making the love bites disappear.

"Yes, I'm sore," Harry said. Even as he shifted, a burst of pain shot up his spine, making squirm in his bed. Swiftly, he unstoppered the pepper-up potion and downed it. He felt a burst of energy. "Do you have anything for...beard burn?"

Tonks snorted. "No, I didn't know that would be necessary," she retorted. She paused, looking at him for a long time. "Was he good?"

"Tonks!" Harry shouted.

"Was he good to you?" Tonks asked again, clarifying her question.

Harry fell silent. He squirmed and pulled his wand from the bedside table. " _Accio_ robe."

His crimson and gold lined robe flew from the ground and Harry grabbed it, pulling tight around his body. He held it closed as he swung out of bed. It bunched around his knees for a second before it fell to his feet, covering him entirely. Barefoot, he walked towards the mirror and looked at himself.

Even dressed, he looked debauched.

"Yes, he was good to me," Harry said, softly. "It didn't even hurt."

"What do you mean it didn't hurt?" Tonks asked, sharply. Harry turned to look at her with wide green eyes.

"He said...if it hurt...he wasn't doing it right," Harry said. He held his hand out for her basket and Tonks opened it in offering. Harry reached inside and drew the long yew wand. He held it in his hands like it was something precious. "He's still here?"

"Yes. He bathed. He's waiting for his wand and speaking to Madame McGonagall. There was an attack...in Little Whinging. They're on their way back now," Tonks said.

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Little Whinging? There was an attack and no one told me?"

Tonks pursed her lips. "You were...busy."

Harry flushed, looking away. "How is it?" he asked.

"In ashes."

Harry sighed, rubbing at his temple, stressed.

"Turn around. I need to dress. I'll bathe after we see him off," Harry said.

Tonks rolled her eyes as she turned around and stared at the wall. She didn't understand Harry. He was so self-conscious but, he had _publicly_ agreed to _fuck_ the Dark Lord. It wasn't like Tonks even wanted him or like Harry wanted her. She preferred older man and he was _gay._ She listened to the rustle of clothing, waiting for him to dress. He groaned, softly.

"What is it?" Tonks asked, still looking at the door.

"The...beard burn on my thighs hurts like a bitch. And my thighs are sore," Harry sighed.

Tonks smirked. "So, you had quite the exercise. I'm glad our lessons worked out."

"Tonks!"

Tonks turned around just as Harry was pulling on a dark blue robe. She stopped, admiring how his arse looked in the tight black trousers. Harry sighed, padding to the door, uncaring that he was barefoot. He stopped, glanced into the mirror and nodded to himself. Tonks neglected to point out the bright red mark just above the collar of his tunic.

"So, the sex was good?" Tonks asked again, eager to know.

Harry stopped before he opened the door. "It was...it was so good, I _cried_. I asked him what he was going to do and he said that he would give me so much pleasure that I would forget my own name. For a second, I did."

Tonks swallowed and nodded. She pursed her lips, looking like she'd swallowed a lemon. Harry pushed the door open and they walked down the stairs, arm in arm. Harry hesitated in front of the front door. Tonks huffed and pushed it open. Harry looked around. There was a crowd of villagers that he recognized from Little Whinging being led away from the Burrow II. They looked terrified, covered in ashes and exhaustion.

Harry faltered when he saw a thin, blonde woman following after Ginny Weasley. She was clinging to a massive blonde whale, and they move shakily.

"What? Harry?" Tonks asked.

"That's...that's my aunt. My...fake aunt. The woman who has been taking care of me for the longest time," Harry said, softly. He watched as Madame McGonagall went up to the woman and spoke softly to her.

Petunia looked crossed but, was nodding. The way they spoke to each other—if Harry didn't know better, he'd think they knew each other. Dudley looked over his shoulder and he gasped when he saw Harry. Dudley tapped his mother roughly and pointed. Petunia looked over her shoulder and her blue eyes turned to stone.

Harry flinched.

His vision was obscured suddenly. Harry looked up at the newly clean-shaven face of the Dark Lord. Harry flushed as Voldemort brushed his fingertips against Harry's jaw. He dragged his fingers down Harry's neck, tracing every spot where the bruises had been before his thumb settled at the edge of Harry's collar. He dragged it down, pressing his thumb down on the hickey that Harry had missed. Harry hissed.

"Stop that," Harry snarled, slapping his hand away.

The Dark Lord looked at him in amusement and held out his hand. "May I have my wand?"

Harry swallowed and offered the long yew wand. The Dark Lord took it and let out a long sigh, shuddering. It was how Harry felt whenever he didn't have his wand in his hand.

"You're leaving now," Harry said.

He wasn't sure why he couldn't speak above a whisper. He tried to ignore all the stares from the newcomers and the old-timers alike. They all knew the Dark Lord. Everyone knew the Dark Lord and they all wondered why he walked around the Order camp a free man.

"I'm leaving now," Voldemort repeated. "When would you like me back?"

Harry pursed his lips. "When you have something worthy to tell or teach me."

Voldemort's lips quirked into a smirk. He took a step backward. Harry suddenly missed the crowding. The Dark Lord took Harry's hand, lifting it up and he pressed a kiss to the knuckles. Harry waited, completely still, his expression grim.

 _Beauty is power._

Harry was sure that he looked fucking _gorgeous_.

"Of course, your Highness," Voldemort drawled, never breaking eye contact. He took a step back and turned on his heel without a single glance backward. "Lucius! Severus! Madame McGonagall has been kind enough to arrange Portkeys for us and our mounts. The time approaches."

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

At her name, McGonagall looked away from Petunia, turning her cold gaze onto the Dark Lord.

"That was...that was intense," Tonks muttered.

"Shut up," Harry hissed back, keeping his attention divided between McGonagall and Petunia and the Dark Lord.

Malfoy had already mounted his horse, holding an oven mitt. He looked irritated and arrogant, as always. But, he looked like he had a particular disdain for the oven mitt. That was probably his Portkey. Snape was watching Harry and Harry flushed under his attention. Voldemort paused before he mounted his beast. He turned on his heel and stalked back towards them. Harry stiffened.

He was surprised when Voldemort walked straight up to Tonks.

He held out his hand. Tonks slowly took it, a cautious frown on her face.

"Blood of my blood," he said. "Until we speak again, Nymphadora."

Tonks swallowed. "Will you tell my mother?"

Voldemort's eyes revealed nothing. "We'll see."

Voldemort looked at Harry for a long time, he raised gloved fingers, rubbing them against Harry's lips and then seemed to think better of it. He turned on his heel and stopped short when he saw McGonagall, Moody, and Fendwick glowering at him. The Dark Lord smirked as he bypassed them, mounted his horse and in just the nick of time, the Dark Lord, and his Death Eaters disappeared a swirling flash of blue light.

When they were gone, Harry looked back at McGonagall. She looked past the Order elders at Petunia and Dudley. Dudley looked terrified, his gaze trained on where the Dark Lord had been only moments before. Petunia was watching him, a sneer curling her lips.

"You know my aunt," Harry said, shifting his gaze back to McGonagall, Fendwick, and Moody.

"And if we do?" Moody barked.

McGonagall averted her eyes.

Harry's gaze narrowed. "Madame McGonagall, call the Order. I believe you have some explaining to do."

 **ALL**

Hermione looked around, wild-eyed. The court stared at her, judging her, condemning her, sentencing her. Hermione searched for Princess Narcissa but, could not find the older woman anywhere. Luna stood, trapped behind the rest of the court, held back by Lord Rodolphus and a man that looked so similar to him, it had to be Rabastan Lestrange. Hermione turned back to look at the knife trained on her.

Draco was skilled at throwing knives. It had been one of the things he had performed in the Republic, during the ball.

"I should punish you for the Order's latest treason! You _knew_! You _knew_ that the raid was happening, and suddenly, they appear!" Draco snarled, his cheeks with furious rage.

Hermione looked up at him, pleading.

"Your Grace! Whatever the traitors have done, I had no part in it! You know that! I was here! I was here, your Grace!" Hermione cried, begging even as she hated herself for it. Still, she would beg for mercy aloud but, she would cry. She would not give him the satisfaction of her tears.

"Sir Blaise! Tell her of what occurred!" Draco commanded, barely sparing the other man a glance as he kept his gaze trained on the woman that he tormented daily.

The future queen's step-brother broke away from the ground, a severe expression on his face, his wand arm in a sling. So, he had been in this skirmish as well. Hermione only wished that the Order had managed to slay him too. But, no...that was pleasure she wanted all to herself. Green eyes met brown and Blaise's hand stayed on the hilt of his sword.

"The Order met us at a raid on the Muggle village of Little Whinging, just as _you_ said they would. Dozens of good men were butchered! After the slaughter, the Order burned their bodies and danced around the fire pit like a group of savages," Blaise spat.

Hermione shook her head, struggling to keep her bearings. _Liar_.

The room erupted into whispers and a woman swooned. Hermione's fingers knotted in the skirts of her silken periwinkle robes and she looked up with great reluctance. She made sure that she did not look too defiant or bold or it would be her head.

"Killing you _would_ send those filthy Mudbloods and blood traitors a message… they _like_ you," Draco said, thoughtfully and he flicked his knife as if he were going to throw it.

Hermione flinched, shutting her eyes and she waited for the sharp edge to slice through her skin like butter. When her death didn't come, she looked back at Draco. The king had thrown his knife into the dais of the Gilded Throne. Draco leaned forward in his throne, an exasperated expression on his face.

"But, my mother insists on keeping you alive. Stand," Draco said, impatiently. Hermione stood immediately and waited. "So, we'll need to send the Order a message some other way. Nott."

Hermione's eyes widened as Theodore, the Heir of House Nott stepped away from the crowd, clad in armor and a cloak. He was not a particularly broad man nor did he have hulking muscle but, the malice in his eyes made up for all of that. Hermione flinched as he raised his hand.

"Stop!"

Hermione stared at Draco, hopeful. She prayed to the gods that she didn't believe in, even the Dtrwies, that he wouldn't do this. Not in front of the entire court. Nott blinked in confusion.

"Leave her face. I like her pretty," Draco smirked.

That was the moment that Hermione promised that she would see the king _dead_.

She felt rather than saw Nott's punch to her stomach and she staggered from the blow, crying out. Tremors of pain echoed through her body. She wasn't quite over the hit when Nott smacked the back of her leg with the flat of his sword, so hard that she felt the bite of it as if she had been stabbed. Hermione grunted, falling to her knees, and very nearly on her face. She caught herself, her hands scraping raw against the rough stone of the Great Hall. She looked up, fat tears escaping from the corner of her eyes. She refused to cry out again.

She ignored the eyes, the shock of the court. She couldn't hear anything but the roaring of her blood in her ears. She just stared into cold, soulless gray eyes.

"Nott… my Lady is overdressed. You should assist her."

Hermione's eyes widened and she tried to crawl away when she felt long, thin fingers on the back of her neck. She could hear the rip of her robes and the cool air in the Great Hall with her back. Goosebumps erupted down her spine. Nott ripped her robes from her top half viciously. Her breasts were exposed for just a moment and Draco only caught a glimpse of rosebud nipples turned up on pale, small globes before she pulled the ripped fabric to her chest.

Her face was flushed with utter humiliation but, she stared at him, defiant until the end. Her lips curled into a sneer. Draco bared his teeth back, nostrils flared.

"If we want the Order to hear her, we're going to have to speak _louder_!" Draco growled.

Nott drew his sword with a grin.

Hermione looked down. She would be killed on the stone just beyond the white blood-stained runner that led up to the dais. At least, she wouldn't be one of the many slain. She would be different. The people would know her name. She wasn't afraid anymore.

The sword began to descend.

" _Crucio!_ "

Nott shrieked in agony and Hermione looked up, shocked as the man crumpled at her side, writhing on the floor. It ended as soon as it began. Hermione looked over her shoulder as the Dark Lord Voldemort stalked down the aisle, his wand aloft, Lord Lucius Malfoy and Sir Severus Snape on either side of him. The Dark Lord's eyes burned and he didn't cast her a single glance.

" _What_ is the meaning of this?" Voldemort barked.

Lucius sneered. "What kind of Auror hurts a helpless girl?" Lucius snarled.

Nott staggered to his feet, gasping loudly, shuddering through the aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse. Still, he looked up, defiant.

"The kind who serves his king," Nott retorted. He took a step forward, red with fury.

"Careful now, we don't want to get any _more_ blood on the carpet," Severus said, lazily. Nott took a step back, silent in his rage.

"Someone get the girl something to cover herself with," Voldemort snapped and Hermione felt a heavy cloak fall onto her back. She looked back at Snape and nodded her thanks.

He ignored her in favor of his Lord and the King.

"I do not like you on the throne, Draco. But, I will accept it. You must learn _quickly_. She is to be your queen. Have you no regard for her honor?" Voldemort sneered as he stared at his young and stupid nephew, the picture of an outraged and wronged little boy.

"I was punishing her!"

His voice sounded dangerously close to whining.

Voldemort _hated_ whining.

"For what crimes? She did not fight the Order's battle. She doesn't even know a single one of them, you idiot," Voldemort hissed, angrily.

Draco jumped up. He put on a haughty glare. "I am your Grace! You can't talk to me that way! I'm the king! The king can do what he likes!"

There was silence. Hermione froze as Lord Voldemort took a step closer. Draco swallowed his pride, taking a shaky step back.

"King Godric did as he liked. Have I ever told you what happened to _him_ , in _great_ detail?" Voldemort murmured, taking step up onto the dais. Draco fell back into his chair, fear in his eyes.

Nott took a shaky step forward. Draco glared at him, nodding.

"No one threatens his Grace the presence of the First Guards of the Aurors," Nott said, apprehensive.

Voldemort turned to look at him with crimson eyes.

In a monotonous voice, he said, "I am not threatening the King, Heir Nott. I am educating him." He turned to Severus. "Severus. The next time Sir Nott speaks, kill him."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus said immediately, his interested piqued by the idea of killing the overly confident young knight. Nott took a step back and looked from Voldemort to Draco with unease.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "That was a threat. See the difference?"

The Dark Lord did not wait for an answer. He turned away from Draco and walked straight towards Hermione. Hermione flinched in fear but, he only offered her a hand. Hermione's eyes widened.

She shakily took it, and she heard Draco stand rather than saw him. As she was pulled to her feet, she kept the heavy black firmly around her. She turned her back to the king and began walking down the aisle, feeling much safer with Voldemort's obvious protection and favor. She felt even safer when Luna pushed through the court and launched onto her side, without a word.

Draco was king but, he couldn't touch her now and he _knew_ it.

"Father! She's mine!" Draco barked. He stamped his feet, angrily. "Father! You can't let him take her! Father, stop him! Or I'll tell Mother!"

Lucius didn't look at him once. The long-haired man looked at Hermione.

"I apologize for my son's behavior," he said, softly and Hermione nodded once to show that she had heard him.

Luna finally stopped inspecting Hermione and looked towards Voldemort. He nodded once at her and Luna felt into a half-curtsey, refusing to let go of Hermione for even a second.

"If you wish to end this engagement, you may speak freely and tell me. I expect truth from you and nothing less," Voldemort said, his voice rough.

Hermione's eyebrows drew down into a frown. Her first thought was to tell him that she had not wanted to be engaged to him in the first place. And then it occurred to her that Draco still had her wand. Her stepbrother was in his good graces and if she broke it off with Draco, he would kill her. Merlin, _Draco_ would kill her. _Narcissa_ would kill her. Everywhere she turned, there were snakes—poised and ready to kill her.

And so she said, "I am loyal to King Draco, my one true love."

Her words stopped Voldemort in his tracks but she continued walking. She did not look over her should but, she could hear his smirk.

"Lady Granger...you manipulative girl. You may survive us yet."

:::

 **A/N:** Whoop, there it is.

That was super long. I didn't expect it to be that long. I tried to split it but, I didn't know where to split it. I tried to split before the smut but, that didn't work, and then right after the smut felt too short. So, you get this SUPER long chapter instead. Sorry, not sorry.

Anyway, **next chapter** is actually completely and totally written. You should get it by tomorrow. I'm currently writing chapter twelve, and I won't post that one until Tuesday, probably, because I want to finish up ALL of Arc One written, which means, Interlude too. And then, like I said, Arc Two probably won't be coming for a hot second.


	13. Chapter Eleven

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Eleven

Harry sat at the head of the table, keeping his eyes trained on McGonagall, Moody, and Fendwick. The fire in the fireplace had sparked into being, merrily as soon as McGonagall had finished her confirmation. Harry _seethed_.

The trio of Order elders stared right back at him, unflinching. They were brave. Or, rather, they underestimated Harry and his fury.

"You knew where he was this whole time and you didn't say anything?" Remus growled, his amber eyes flashing a dangerous yellow. Harry watched, slightly alarmed by the hostility in the man's typically gentle voice.

Tonks settled her hand on Remus' hand and she cast him a careful look, squeezing tightly. Remus looked at her, instantly soothed. He turned his palm over, lacing their fingers together and he took a deep shuddering breath. When he opened his eyes again, he was calmer, though still slightly on edge.

"Remus…" Tonks said, gently.

Remus shook his head. "No. They knew all this time and left Harry _unprotected_ with Muggles. If you knew where he was, he should've been raised here, to be an effective leader."

Marlene McKinnon sneered at Remus. Harry's lips curled into a humorless grin. Whenever McKinnon spoke, his hackles rose. She was rude and dismissive and belittled whenever she had the chance. She whispered 'whore' whenever his head was turned into Emmeline Vance's ear. According to Tonks, she and Charlie were the only curse breakers in the entire camp, which explained her presence.

"Why don't you take the Big Bad Wolf out for a walk, Little Red?" McKinnon hissed, mockingly.

Tonks glared, pulling her crimson cloak tighter around her.

"Shut the fuck up, McKinnon, before I break your neck," Tonks said, coldly.

The entire room stared. Remus squeezed Tonks' hand tightly and Harry was suddenly struck by the fact that he had never seen anyone take issue with Tonks directly, except maybe McGonagall. Everyone tread carefully around her. Somehow, in some way, they viewed Tonks as _dangerous_.

McKinnon fell back in her chair and looked to McGonagall, carefully not looking at Tonks. Harry looked over at McGonagall.

"Why didn't you ever check on me?" Harry asked, his voice soft.

"I knew you would be safe there from the Slytherin," McGonagall said, her voice firm and brooking no argument. Harry fell back in his seat and let out a long sigh.

"Tell me what happened that day. Tell me _everything_ , please," Harry said.

Every single person in the room watched McGonagall, waiting if she would grant his request. Slowly, McGonagall nodded, ignoring Moody's grumbling.

"Princess Lily…was not a fugitive. Her mother and father sent her away because it was foretold in a prophecy that someone born of fire, snow and jewel would be killed for her heart and beauty. They locked her away in a tower," McGonagall said without any inflection or tone of any kind and Harry wondered if that was her way of blocking all the pain like his sarcasm was a deflection of the pain too.

"They…locked her in the tower that Ron and Ginny found me at," Harry decided and McGonagall looked slightly impressed that he had deduced that, though she really shouldn't have been.

It was the only singular tower Harry knew of.

"Yes. Few people knew where she was. Only the kings and queens of old, the Gryffindor Consort, and…the Lord of Whispers, Albus Dumbledore knew. Lily grew to be…suicidal. She hated being trapped there and she viewed it as a prison. And so, Queen Helga thought it appropriate that she have a companion that returned every day. That companion was James Potter and they fell in love. They asked permission to marry, which the King Godric gladly gave. But, they needed witnesses. Your father was best friends with three men. Sir Remus Lupin, Sir Peter Pettigrew, and Heir Sirius Black. In their younger years, they called themselves the Marauders but were widely known just as Princess Lily's guard. The day that James brought the three to that tower was the beginning of the end," McGonagall whispered.

Harry frowned and then his eyes widened at the insinuation in her voice. He glared down at the glossy wooden table when suddenly he heard the screech of a chair being pushed back. He looked up, sharply and saw Remus standing. He looked devastated and he shook his head.

"I…I can't. I can't listen to this," Remus whispered, harshly.

The man practically ran from the room and Harry swallowed. He looked to Tonks who looked at him, pleadingly. Harry nodded and Tonks rushed after the man that she seemed to care a great deal about. Harry sighed.

"One of them betrayed them. Black or Pettigrew."

"I'll be getting to that. After discovering Lily's pregnancy, James told Albus, a midwife named Madam Pomfrey, and myself, in case he needed help. He could not tell the kings and queens for they would not trust a suicidal Lily to care for a child, especially when it had been conceived out of wedlock. So, he had kept it secret from them. And just a few weeks after your birth…the massacre occurred. Something within the Slytherin twins had snapped and with Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters, they slaughtered the castle's Guard and murdered King Godric, his Consort, and Queen Helga. King Salazar and Queen Rowena fled and Voldemort crowned Bellatrix queen," McGonagall continued with her story and Harry leaned forward.

"Then, after you were born…Lily was somehow found and brutally murdered by Lord Voldemort. He left looking older than I but returned look much younger. He brought back Lily's heart in a brown bag and proclaimed that Sirius Black had been the Secret Keeper, but foolishly turned the right over to Peter Pettigrew who _betrayed_ them. Sirius was imprisoned and it was the next day that Albus could finally get away to retrieve you, Harry. We had been kept in the Great Hall until the Dark Lord returned. He sent me to scout out somewhere that you may live…if you had lived at all. And we placed you there…with the Muggles…in hope that their mundaneness would _protect_ you," McGonagall said and she sounded almost pleading as if she was practically begging for Harry to believe her.

Harry hummed, looking away. "So, you left me there."

"Alastor, Benjy, and I came to the correct decision," McGonagall said.

Harry leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "No. You didn't."

McGonagall finally faltered.

"What do you mean, boy?" Benjy Fendwick asked, keeping his gaze on Harry. Harry always felt filthy when the old man looked at him, slid his gaze over Harry's body like he was a meal for public consumption. Like he _belonged_ to their gazes.

"I lived in a cold attic with hay for a bed. I was made to be a slave to Muggles, cooking and cleaning and gardening, from the age of five, when I could finally carry the bucket without splashing water everywhere. When I turned nine, a man told me, for the first time, what my mouth was made to do," Harry drawled, staring at McGonagall, then Fendwick, and then finally Moody. "I was twelve the first time a woman called me 'slut' because she had caught her husband with my name on his lips. I have been harassed and slandered my entire life."

Harry refused to look at the others' horrified faces. Instead, he watched the elders, waiting for the response. McGonagall's expression faltered first. Fendwick averted his gaze. Only Moody stared back at him.

"You spread your legs for the Dark Lord and you expect respect?" Moody said, darkly. "Men and women-good men and women-died because of that man. Albus Dumbledore _died_ because of that man. Your parents _died_ because of that man. And you are _surprised_ when people are angry? You are surprised when people call you what they see you as?"

Harry leaned forward, staring at Moody with unblinking green eyes.

"What do they call me?" Harry hissed, daring him to say it.

He _dared_ Moody to voice the words, to spit Harry's insecurities back in his face, to spit Harry's sacrifice in his face.

"A common _whore_ ," Moody spat.

Harry sat back, his lips curling into a smile. Slowly, he drew his wand and tapped his chin.

"What did the Dark Lord say?" Harry whispered.

Moody's lip curled. "While he fucking you?"

"No...you have to _mean_ it," Harry spat, malice in his voice. Moody paused, staring at the boy-prince for a long moment. "Alastor Moody, one day...and one day soon, I will be _tired_ of your shit. On that day, you will _beg_ for forgiveness from your Prince. You shall not get it."

Slowly, he stood, his chair scraping across the grain wood. Without another word, Harry left the room. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he was running down the stairs, escaping through the front door. Harry ran through the tents, ignoring the bows and stares. They didn't understand. No one _understood_ , except _him_.

Harry almost didn't see her. He skidded to a stop in front of the tall, horse-like woman as she knelt by the other laundresses, washing the ashes from her clothes.

"Your Highness," the eldest said with a smile.

Harry smiled back at her and nodded. "Hello everyone!" he said, forcing a smile. His eyes fell on Aunt Petunia. She hadn't looked at him. "Aunt Petunia."

"Tch," she said in the back of her throat.

Harry looked away and continued on through the camp, his heart beating in his ears. He saw a group of Muggle boys and girls tossing around a ball. Lavender sat at the edge of the field with her friends, Teddy cradled in her lap. Dudley sat just a distance away, a blank look in his eyes. Harry slowly walked up to him and sat down, glad that no one had noticed him yet.

"Hey, Dudley," Harry said, his voice soft.

Dudley looked up, his nose wrinkling. Harry swallowed. Fuck, he still smelled like _sex_.

"Harry...your Highness," Dudley corrected, his voice sour. "Prince of Gryffindor. They call you Harry Wildfyre. Whatever that means."

Harry sat down beside Dudley, crossing his legs in the grass. He lifted his hand and called the Fire. Dudley's widened in awe.

"It means that," Harry said before extinguishing it with just another thought. "I'm sorry about your father. He didn't deserve to die."

"The Aurors did it. Decided to come to Little Whinging. If it weren't for the Order, we'd be dead, me and Mum," Dudley said, his voice nearly dead. He wheezed softly, his throat still burning from the smoke. He leaned back, picking at the grass blades. "I heard what you did. With the Dark Lord."

Harry flushed. "Oh…"

"You know he came to Little Whinging looking for you. Was it 'cause you're the long lost Prince or whatever?" Dudley asked, still refusing to look at Harry.

Harry squirmed.

"It's complicated," Harry said, his voice soft. "But...that's how I got here. It's a really long story."

"You know he killed Piers," Dudley said, looking up at Harry, his eyes sharp. Harry faltered, flinching back. "When he came looking for you. He asked about you. He was going to kill me. And Piers told me not to tell him. So, he killed Piers. And then, I told him because I didn't want to die too."

"I don't blame you for telling him," Harry said, looking away.

"I blame you for Piers being dead, though. He was like my brother, you know. And he died, protecting you, and you didn't even give him the time of day. Y'know he really liked you. Like actually liked you," Dudley said, pointedly.

Harry looked down, hurt. "That's not on me. I didn't ask him to feel that way about me."

"You didn't have to _fuck_ his murderer either, Harry," Dudley retorted.

Harry stood up, suddenly and Dudley looked up at him. He really looked at him.

Harry Wildfyre looked nothing like Harry Evans. Harry Wildfyre was stunning and smelled like smoke and sex. Harry Wildfyre radiated with power.

"This is war. I do what needs to be done," Harry Wildfyre said.

Dudley watched him walk away and wept.

 **MIRROR, MIRROR**

" **Nagini…** " Voldemort hissed as he reclined in his study.

He watched as the great snake slithered out of the pipe that entered into his room. She slid across the floor, sliding up his chair and settling herself over his shoulders, her great long body curling across his lap and ending on the floor, coiled. Nagini flicked her tongue near his ear in greeting. Voldemort took a long lip of wine.

" **Master...welcome home**." The green, yellow-eye snake hissed again. " **You have missed much.** "

Voldemort stared out to the Forbidden Forest, just past the gates, thinking of the Order.

" **I know. Blood spilled by blood. New kings with new crowns. The empire is breaking,** " Voldemort hissed to his trusted familiar, stroking her flat arrow-shaped head. She gave a long hiss of pleasure, appreciative. Voldemort's lips curled into a smile.

" **The diamond sister used blood magic, Master. She still uses it. It clings to her, like an ill-fitting skin that won't shed,** " Nagini hissed.

Voldemort growled low in his throat and he took another sip of the wine. He looked past the gates. He had fucked the Fairest. It felt like weeks ago when it was really only hours. So much had changed in the past week or so. His sister had been dead for four days before Lady Granger had sent out the falcon. His sister was _dead_.

" **I am sworn to the Prince of Gryffindor now, my sweet. Sworn to the Fairest. I work with the Order now,** " Voldemort hissed and Nagini curled over his shoulder, her heavy body falling on the table, her piercing yellow eyes staring in his own crimson orbs.

" **Why, Master? You betray your brethren?** "

" **They betrayed me first, my sweet,** " Voldemort said coldly. He drained the rest of his goblet, staring around at the tomes of the Darkest Arts.

Had his youngest sister snuck into his study? Had she found the spell, the ritual, to murder their sister in his own rooms?

Voldemort closed his eyes. He thought about the Fairest. The Fairest's tight heat, surrounding him. The Fairest's green eyes boring into his. The Fairest who had looked like a doll; a broken, little doll. Voldemort would take porcelain and spin it into steel. Voldemort would fashion a crown out of the broken pieces that made up the boy-prince.

"Brother?"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed as his door creaked open. His wand was in his hand, glowing a dangerous green. He could hear his twin sister, gasping for air, choking on the blood that bubbled from her mouth. She would look at him, frothing, telling him to kill her with her eyes even as she choked on her own death.

But, then he heard another voice. A voice that made him think of pleasure and fire. A void that made Voldemort greedy.

 _And you shall be unmade, Kingmaker._

"Narcissa," Voldemort hissed, sliding his wand back up his sleeve.

Narcissa pushed the door open. Voldemort admired her. She was beautiful. Long platinum hair hung to her waist. Part of her hair was twisted into a simple Northern style. She looked like their mother, in her navy robes.

Voldemort's smile resembled a grimace.

"I sometimes forget that you were the one meant to inherit. The only one with the snake's tongue," Narcissa said, her voice wistful and nostalgic as she remembered a happier time.

Voldemort felt a stab of bitterness; those times had never been happy for him. When the Founders had ruled, his twin sister's sanity had been slipping, his second sister had found satisfaction when he could not, and the youngest...well, she had become the woman before him. Willing to slaughter her own blood for her son's advancement.

"Only the oldest receives the gift," Voldemort whispered.

Narcissa smiled, nodding. "And only the powerful receive a familiar," she went on.

"Powerful? I think the one that endures. Eating a raw snake heart as an eleven-year-old wasn't the most enjoyable moment of my life," Voldemort said. Even still, he remembered the taste. It was not the same as a human heart, more oily and a thousand times more revolting.

"I made the attempt. I nearly lasted to the end...I had hoped that I could, like you," Narcissa murmured. She trailed off, embarrassed by her short-comings. Voldemort cocked a silent eyebrow but, she shook her head. "Even Lily was able to do it."

"There was no one else if she didn't. And even she was different," Voldemort said.

He remembered Lily's ceremony well. She had devoured the lion heart without a care, slurping the fat as if she were born to do so. She had licked her fingers clean, the little lioness. Then, she had vomited it back up, chunks of raw meat staining the front of her dress. Her vomit had turned to fire and a phoenix had exploded from it. Fawkes had never left her side until she had been stolen away to a tower.

"Shall we go to the council meeting now?" Narcissa asked.

Voldemort nodded, hissing softly to Nagini. She drew her body off of Voldemort's, keeping Narcissa in the yellow line of her sight. He offered his arm to his sister and she took it, tucking her self into his side. They left his office, which locked behind him. He would have to put in new wards; wards that only allowed him and not anyone that shared his blood.

"Your son is a brat, Narcissa," he said as they walked down the Gargoyle Corridor, just a few feet towards the council room. Narcissa jerked against her brother's side. "He is a vicious, spoiled child."

"What do you mean?" Narcissa rasped.

"He dishonored his future lady-wife. He continues to dishonor her. He beats her. Humiliates her. Is this how we treat a queen in Albion? Is this how a king behaves?" Voldemort asked, as if speaking to a child.

He watched her flush, splotchy embarrassment all over her cheeks. It made her ugly, for just a moment. He found pleasure in that, no matter how petty the feeling was.

"He is still learning, brother. And you have just returned. You will show him. Please, give him a chance," Narcissa begged, squeezing tight on Voldemort's arm. Voldemort shook her clear off his arm and Narcissa flinched. He rolled his shoulders back as he stared down at the gargoyle to the council room.

"Blood of my blood," he said, pointedly.

The gargoyle didn't shift.

"The new password is... _dragon's light_. For Draco's name," Narcissa said, apologetically. The gargoyle lept to the side and Voldemort ground his teeth as he stormed up the steps, straight into the council room.

He paused. Draco sat in the middle of the table, the two chairs on either side of him open for his mother and Voldemort. Narcissa swept forward, whispering secrets and control in the ear of her unruly, power-drunk son. Voldemort sneered at his little beast of a nephew.

"There have been some changes," Voldemort observed. He looked around the room, his eyes falling on Walden MacNair, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Antonin Dolohov, the only three Death Eaters that still remained on the council.

"The King has decided that a council position change would beneficial to the overall effectiveness of his reign, my Lord," Antonin Dolohov said, leaning forward. He was now sitting in Rodolphus' seat. "Sir Blaise of the Gaulish House Zabini now sits as Lord of Whispers. Walden remains Commander of the Navy and Vincent remains as interim Commander of the Archers."

Voldemort looked around the table, cataloging the changes. Blaise Zabini, the foreign Gaulish boy, tried to hide his fear but, he had not been faced with the Dark Lord before and he had seen how easily he had cursed Theodore Nott. Narcissa looked like a diamond.

"I...see," Voldemort hissed.

Carefully, he walked upon the dais and sat in his seat, looking pointedly at Draco.

"I call this council meeting to order," Draco intoned.

The magic flared and Voldemort cleared his throat as the map before them came alive, land masses rising, House strongholds appearing. He memorized all of the position changes. This would be useful for the Order, for the Prince of Gryffindor.

"I must say I'm unamused with your changes, Draco," Voldemort drawled. Draco flushed, looking over at his mother but, Narcissa nudged him gently. "Why do you call us here tonight so late?"

"Before we begin on official matters, I'd like to summon _all_ of the noble Houses that are not already at court. Their Lords should affirm their loyalty to _me_ , their King," Draco said, sharply.

Voldemort hummed. The first thing his nephew had said and it was mildly intelligent. And it would _certainly_ make Hogwarts Castle a little more interesting.

"You have families in mind, nephew," Voldemort said. It wasn't a question.

Draco nodded. "Within days of my coronation, nearly all of the Houses sent out falcons to swear the fealty. All except House Longbottom."

"Did you expect them to?" Voldemort drawled. "You are the son of the woman that made the House nearly extinct."

Narcissa straightened in her chair. "I did what I must."

"I didn't say you didn't," Voldemort retorted. He looked to his nephew. "I approve this idea. We shall send out missives within the next two days. We will summon House Longbottom with a falcon and the other noble Houses with owls. Zabini, as Lord of Whispers, you will do this."

"Yes, my Lord," Blaise said, quietly.

He watched. He was like Severus in that way. Always observing. Manipulating the crown from afar. Voldemort would watch him.

"Now, what occurred in the meeting that I was absent for?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Our Lady Mother, the Lady of the Coin, and I have discussed imposing a war tax on the people of Albion," Draco said.

Macnair leaned forward, nodding. "My Lord, is an idea that we, as the remaining representatives of the Death Eaters, fully support."

Draco looked at Voldemort, all wilful arrogance. Voldemort's lips curled into a humorless smile. He glanced at Narcissa. She was still as stone. Amongst the table, she had known him the longest. She could see the way he seethed. She played ignorance. Voldemort knew that Narcissa whispered her plans into her son's head. Voldemort held out his hand for the parchment.

Narcissa passed him the proposal, her signature marking her agreement as the Lady of the Coin. He scanned it, the ludicrous proposal growing more ludicrous as he read. Narcissa had not proposed this. She wasn't stupid enough for that. That meant it was Draco's idea and she insisted on it only to satisfy her boy. Voldemort vaguely recalled a remark that his nephew had made upon his return about a Gaulish tax. He gazed at Zabini for just a moment.

"What say you, Lord Rodolphus?" Voldemort asked, carefully, looking to the only man that he trusted in the room.

The Lord of House Lestrange rolled his eyes up from the map. "I think it foolish. I think the king foolish," he spat.

Draco's eyes widened.

"You will hold your tongue when speaking about his Grace," Narcissa snarled, ever the protective mother. Sometimes, Voldemort imagined her more bear than a snake.

"I think I agree with Lord Rodolphus' assessment," Voldemort decided.

Narcissa faltered, looking at him hesitantly. Draco turned red.

"W-what do you mean?" the king sputtered.

"A war fund is meaningless when we could take a loan from Gringotts to fund the war. The task of collecting more money will be more expensive than the tax itself," Voldemort said, dismissively. "Who will pay the tax collectors? How many tax collectors? This requires knowing _every_ family within the kingdom, I expect. Who will conduct a census? How will we pay for _that_?"

Rodolphus nodded in agreement.

"Furthermore, should we do more to incite the rage of the Order? We have already been promptly beaten by the order in your first endeavor to collect a tax," Rodolphus said, pointedly. His voice was twisted just so, the mockery on the edges of his voice. Draco's lips curled into a sneer.

"Ah, yes, the ravaging of Little Whinging," Voldemort said.

Both his sister and nephew seemed surprised that he already knew what had occurred. Of course, Nagini had access to the entire castle. His sweet little familiar was quite the spy. After all, he'd been quite preoccupied with fucking the little minx that had cried so prettily. The little broken Fairest. Merlin, he had been good, for a virgin. Voldemort burned with need.

Harry Potter was not someone to be enjoyed only once.

"The King wished to use us."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed on Lord Rodolphus. Rodolphus was staring at Antonin with suspicious eyes. Severus would need to keep an eye on Antonin. Voldemort remembered his deal suddenly. Harry wanted Antonin dead. He wondered why.

"Use _you_? _My_ Death Eaters?" Voldemort asked, rolling his head over to look at Draco.

Draco looked at him, haughty and uptight. "They are men of the realm."

Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"What did you say, Rodolphus?" Voldemort asked.

"We do not belong to him, my Lord, no matter what _some_ of us seem to believe," Lord Lestrange said, staring pointedly at Antonin and Walden. "We serve a great man. Not a child who torments, in front of the whole court, the innocent woman that he is meant to marry."

Draco turned on Rodolphus, baring his teeth.

"I torment whomever I _like_. You'd do well to remember that, you scarred monster," Draco snarled. Voldemort watched him, amused. Just like his mother, vain and proud with their unblemished faces. Voldemort had always thought there was beauty in scars, like the scar on the Fairest's forehead.

Rodolphus laughed, long and hard. "Oh. 'Monster'. Perhaps, you should speak to me more softly then. Monsters are dangerous and, just now, royals are dying like _flies_."

There was a long, tense silence. Narcissa slammed her fist on the table, angrily.

"Rodolphus, how inappropriate!" Walden called.

"You must apologize to his Grace, immediately," Zabini said in his Gaulish accent, slimy and terrible.

Narcissa trembled with her rage, attempting to grab a hold of herself. Voldemort gave a cold smile.

"I will have you tortured," Draco said, pointing a finger. Narcissa reached up, grabbing his hand and patting on Draco's hand, trying to calm him as she had calmed herself.

"Let him make his jests, my love. He is a fool. A _replaceable_ one," Narcissa bit out.

Rodolphus snorted. "Replace me then."

"I will have your _head_!" Draco roared, jumping to his feet and glaring at the defiant Lord of House Lestrange. "I am the king! I will punish you!"

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Any man who must say 'I am the king' is no true king," Voldemort taunted. "I'll make sure you understand that when I've won your war."

"My mother and father won the real war! They subdued and crushed any enemies that sought to rise against us while you hid in Hogwarts Castle, babying your frothing, mad sister!"

Voldemort froze. He had never quite felt fury akin to this. Maybe once. In the face of his father. It felt akin to ice sliding through his veins. Narcissa's breath had caught disappeared altogether, she was so still. Draco swallowed, muted terror twisting his face. Voldemort never took his gaze off that pointed face. The boy used to look so much like his father. Now, he looked like Narcissa. Like Bellatrix, in a strange way.

"The king is tired. See him to his chambers, Narcissa," Voldemort said.

Narcissa rose immediately. Quietly, she urged, "Adjourn the meeting, my love. And come along."

She pulled him to his feet and Draco, confusedly said, "Meeting adjourned. Mother, I'm not tired."

"We have so much to do, my love. A wedding to plan. You must rest. We will meet with your future bride in the morning," Narcissa insisted.

Even as Draco adjourned the meeting, none of the Lords of the Council moved, watching. Voldemort was still as Narcissa dragged Draco around the table and towards the door, as if she were fleeing Voldemort herself.

"Perhaps some Dreamless Sleep Potion to aide him," Voldemort suggested, coldly.

Even as Draco was pulled down the stairs, his voice echoed, "I'm not... _TIRED!_ "

Voldemort rose to his feet and the Lords followed his example. Dolohov and Macnair walked out together, head bent, whispering secrets. Lord Rodolphus nodded and bowed to his Lord, dutiful. He left swiftly. Voldemort tilted his head. He imagined that the Lord of House Lestrange would either be off to tell his younger brother of what had happened or to see the girl.

Voldemort had the urge to see a woman. He wondered how she would respond to his uninvited visit.

 **ON**

"Knock. Knock."

Andromeda did not look up from her letter immediately. She continued checking it over for mistakes, making sure that her orders to Regulus were perfect before she signed with a flourish, her full name: Princess Andromeda of House Slytherin, Warden of the West. She looked up to see her maids-her hard, refined, well-trained maids-giggling as they fell into low curtseys. Andromeda rolled her eyes.

"The cock of Hogwarts Castle returns," Andromeda drawled. Voldemort smirked as he swaggered into her sitting room, falling onto the loveseat opposite her chair.

"You wound me, Dromeda," Voldemort said, full of false hurt. He rolled his eyes.

Andromeda frowned at the familiar nickname as she folded her letter and pulled her wand. She touched the tip of her wand to the envelope and her wax seal appeared, the official glaive and wand of the Warden of the West in yellow. Voldemort had not called her 'Dromeda' in many years. She remembered a time when he had had nicknames for all of them. Bella, Cissy, Dromeda, and Tom. That was gone now. He had destroyed that, taking the name of Voldemort, divorcing Tom from the sins of the Dark Lord.

Her stomach churned. Every time she looked at her brother, anger surged through her. But, she held her tongue, refusing to lash out. She was a Slytherin. She would have some sort of composure. She was a Slytherin.

"We should break our fast together, Dromeda. I have not seen you in so long. You dine in your rooms. Eat with the court," Voldemort insisted. He paused, as if he were thinking better of his words. "Rather. Will you do me the honor of joining me for breakfast?"

He was _asking_. Andromeda swallowed her shock and pursed her lips, sour like a lemon. She couldn't deny him in front of her servants. He wouldn't have that. Instead, she risked agreement and nodded. She held up her finger, snapping. Three of the maids scrambled to attend to her, pushing and shoving. Andromeda rolled her eyes. The young ones were always a pain until they learned better.

The maid who won was pretty and efficient enough. She had long, curly dark hair and large dark eyes. She flushed under the Dark Lord's gaze.

"Lady Warden," she said in greeting. She turned to the Dark Lord and whispered, coquettishly, "My Lord."

Andromeda rolled her eyes.

"Hello there, pretty thing. What is your name?" the Dark Lord asked.

Her maid smiled, sweetly. "Romilda, m'lord."

Voldemort reached up, dragging his fingertips across the maid's cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw.

"If your lady permits it, perhaps you shall tend to me tonight, Romilda," Voldemort said. He slowly turned his gaze onto Andromeda. Romilda looked at her, pleading.

Andromeda waved her hand dismissively.

"If that is what you wish, my Lord," Romilda giggled.

"Romilda, I called you for a reason," the Lady Warden barked. She held out her letter, pressing it into Romilda's waiting fingers. "An owl to Lord Regulus will be sufficient."

Romilda nodded and she darted off, most likely to brag to the other maids before doing as she was big. Voldemort hummed.

"How _is_ our cousin?" Voldemort asked.

"As well as can be expected. He was the second son. He did not know how to be Lord but, he has learned well in the past decade or so. He misses his brother," Andromeda said, pointedly.

Voldemort frowned. "Regulus learned well from his brother's _mistakes_ ," Voldemort retorted and he pulled his wand, twisting it through the air. " _Muffliato_."

So, this would be a private conversation. Andromeda stiffened, even more on guard.

"Even after these many years, you still must bed every pretty thing that you see?" Andromeda asked, callous.

Her brother had always been greedy-greedy for power, greedy for attention, greedy for beauty, and greedy for pleasure. It was probably his most defining trait to those that knew him, truly knew him. He couldn't help but gorge himself on others.

"Not many can make a claim to bedding the most beautiful creature in the world," Voldemort smirked. Andromeda's rage, ever present, all consuming, was pushed aside in favor of curiosity.

"The most beautiful creature in the world?" Andromeda asked.

"The Fairest of Them All," Voldemort said, inspecting his fingernails, casually.

Andromeda tried not to gasp but the sharp inhale was telling enough. Voldemort smirked as he continued to inspect his hands.

"The Prewett twins called the Prince of Gryffindor that. The true King. They called him many things," Andromeda said, her gaze stern. She leaned forward, searching for the lies. She knew her brother. He didn't have many tells but, she could _feel_ it when he lied. She could taste it on her tongue, like sourdough. "You bedded him. How?"

Voldemort tilted his head, as if wondering how to go about it. Andromeda waited, her body tense. He was also so much more controlled in front of her. He was right to be. She could taste his emotions on the back of her tongue, could dissect him very well.

"How about...you tell me something. And then, I must tell me something. We'll make a game of it," Voldemort decided. Andromeda nodded.

"I've learned not to play games with you, _Dark Lord_ ," Andromeda taunted.

Voldemort smirked. "You'd like to play this one."

"I don't like much of anything anymore. Not since you burned my life around my ears," Andromeda snarled, her voice rough with old pain that felt like it had only happened six seconds ago.

"You'll like this game," Voldemort promised.

"I'll humor you," Andromeda bit out. "What do you want me to tell you?"

"Tell me why you left us."

Andromeda froze. In all their years, her brother had never asked that question. He had made assumptions, screamed and hollered and cast assumptions.

"I was tired. Tired of everything. We were plotting to murder the Founders...our own _father._ I delivered Helena to you on a silver platter and I've always regretted that. I dream, still, about you ripping the girl's heart out. I dream about what you did to Lily. It was too much. I was tired of being the _monster_ they said that we were. There was too much red on my hands and I wanted something pure," Andromeda confessed.

Voldemort sneered. "Your husband was anything but _pure_."

"I loved him," she said, as if it explained everything. "I know you haven't ever loved a thing in your life besides your own reflection but, when you love someone... _really_ love them, none of it matters."

Voldemort's lips twitched into a smile. Andromeda frowned, wondering what the joke was. What about her words had been funny? She swallowed. Talking about Ted made her insides ache, made her bones feel too big for her skin.

"Very well," Voldemort sighed.

"Tell me. How did you come to find yourself balls deep in the Prince of Gryffindor?"

Voldemort snorted. "How _crass_."

"Stop it. Tell me now. Aren't we playing a game?" Andromeda demanded. She leaned forward, folding her hands together in her lap.

Voldemort leaned back, throwing his arm over the back of the loveseat.

"All good things come in threes, Dromeda. You know that. First, Helena. Then, Lily. He was to be the third. His heart would have granted me eternal life," Voldemort said, staring far away. Andromeda tilted her head, intrigued. His voice grew soft when he spoke about the Fairest. "I know it was you. You told Lady Granger about Narcissa. She told me."

Andromeda stiffened. "So?"

"You knew she would tell me. Her little maid owes me a debt. You remember," Voldemort said, staring at Andromeda with those crimson eyes that pulled her apart until she was nothing but, blood, bones, and grief. "Narcissa killed our sister."

"What does that have to do with the Fairest?" Andromeda barked.

"He escaped me twice. The first time, he ran to the Order. The second...he took me _to_ the Order. Bellatrix was dead, slaughtered by our sister. They wanted to kill me. Kill you. Kill my Death Eaters. Kill the empire that I have forged from beautiful bones and Helena's blood. I struck a deal," Voldemort said, sharply.

Andromeda stared, waiting. "What kind of deal?"

"He called me 'Kingmaker'. Wanted me to make him into a King. I told him I would in exchange for mercy, vengeance, and his innocence. He knew that if I so wanted to, I could leave. Disappear into nothingness. I chose power," Voldemort said and he leaned forward, his eyes fluttering as he finally allowed himself to think about the Fairest. Harry _Potter._ "Harry Potter is a broken thing. I've always liked broken things. It's easy to mend them. But, this will take more than a _Reparo_."

"What have you _done_?" Andromeda hissed.

She didn't doubt his words. Voldemort wouldn't make up something so _stupid_.

"What needs to be done," Voldemort said, his voice cold.

"You…"

"Me," Voldemort interrupted. "I told you because I would have you swear fealty to the King of Gryffindor. As Warden of the West, pledge your lands and cause to him."

" _Why_ would I do anything for _you_? Why would I betray Narcissa?" Andromeda snarled, dangerous as the snake of their House. Voldemort glared at her, grinding his perfect white teeth.

"She killed our _sister_. She betrayed the blood!" Voldemort barked.

"And so did you!" Andromeda broke. She leaped to her feet, pulling her wand and pointing it at Voldemort's face. He didn't move. "You killed my daughter! Your niece! A child of House Slytherin! You killed a _child_ , _Tom_. _My_ child!"

Voldemort's face betrayed nothing. He slowly stood to his feet.

"Send your maid to my rooms," he said.

Andromeda snarled. "You cannot _leave_. We're having a conver-"

"Her hair shifts when she is angry. She looks like you. Looks like Bellatrix. Except, her natural hair is a few shades lighter than yours," Voldemort said, looking thoughtful. "She wears her hair pink and a crimson cloak. Like the one you think you hid from me when I took you away. I know you sleep with it under your pillow. Did you make it for her?"

Andromeda's bottom lip quivered. "Ted did...w-what?"

Voldemort walked towards the door and he stopped, looking over his shoulder just before he left.

"I would not slay my own blood. Nymphadora Tonks sends her regards."

Andromeda didn't even notice when she had begun to cry.

 **THE WALL**

"Lady Warden...Lady Warden, it's time to break your fast. You are joining the court this morning."

Andromeda had not slept. She rolled over in her bed, watching her maid through shrewd, bloodshot eyes. Romilda walked across Andromeda's rooms, pulling out cosmetics and brushes and combs and a gown of silk and iron, high-necked and conservative. Perfect for the morning. Today, Andromeda would be doing battle with all of the court.

"I am awake," Andromeda said, her voice rough. She pushed the comforter off and sat up in bed, stuffing the red children's cloak further under her pillows.

Instead, she watched Romilda, carefully. Romilda was limping. She looked exhausted but, sated. Andromeda scanned her. There were love bites along her neck, disappearing down to her breasts. She hadn't healed them. Neither had Voldemort. Andromeda didn't expect him to. Her brother was inconsiderate like that.

"How was your night with the Dark Lord?"

Romilda looked up, a pretty flush spreading on her face as she waved her wand, the long gown falling over the mannequin, ready to be worn as soon as Andromeda could be assed to get up and braid her hair.

Romilda's lips tilted into a smile. Andromeda recognized that smile from her youth. All the silly girls and boys that had spent a night in Lord Voldemort's bed wore that smile. They told themselves that the Dark Lord would choose them. That he would be satisfied with only them. Andromeda had always told them that they were just stories. The Dark Lord was never satisfied. He would _never_ be satisfied. Andromeda was always proven right when they went to the Dark Lord again and he all but forgot their name.

Andromeda sighed. She genuinely liked her flighty maid. Romilda was a bit of a dolt but, she was obedient and she showed talent with her wand. Talent in glamours and charms but, even that could prove useful.

"It was enjoyable, Lady Warden," Romilda said, her voice soft.

Andromeda leaned forward, her lips curled into a taunting smile. "He calls them 'whore' in his bed. 'Whore' and 'cockslut' and 'needy' and 'his'. Did he call you these things, Romilda? Was he rough with you? Make you take it like a prostitute?"

Andromeda couldn't help her malice. Romilda flushed in humiliation. It took quite a lot to humiliate Romilda. Andromeda nearly felt accomplished.

"I...he didn't speak at all, Lady Warden," Romilda whispered.

Andromeda slid out of her bed, her heavy dressing gown dragging across the floor as she walked to her vanity. "Then, Romilda, why do you blush?"

"He called me by a name...when he finished," Romilda whispered.

Andromeda paused for just a moment before she sat down before the mirror. Slowly, she began to braid her hair behind her ears, braiding it tight to her head. Romilda gathered the hair atop her head and began to fishtail it back.

"I have heard many stories about my brother's prowess in bed. He does not call names. He doesn't care for the women or men that he fucks. They are warm holes for him to put his oversized ego in," Andromeda spat.

Romilda paused and Andromeda did feel regret, then. She swallowed it, along with the bitterness and bile. She would not apologize. The Warden of the West, Andromeda of House Slytherin, did not apologize. She looked up at Romilda. The girl was keeping her eyes trained on the braid. Andromeda could see her fingers trembling.

"You're...you're right, Lady Warden," Romilda said, barely above a whisper. She resumed braiding and when she finished, she weaved chain through it, iron and steel.

Andromeda waited patiently and then she stood, allowing Romilda to dress her, binding her in pale blue silk that showed the lines of her body but the fabric was strengthened by pieces of iron that made her appear as if she were wearing armor. She was untouchable. The Warden of the West.

 _Nymphadora Tonks sends her regards._

Andromeda shivered as Romilda buttoned the dress along her spine.

"What was the name, Romilda?" Andromeda asked, looking over her shoulder.

Romilda swallowed. "Harry. He called me 'Harry'."

And then, Romilda was gone, face bright red. Andromeda sighed. She would have to give something nice to the girl. A new bauble of some sort to express her apology. But, Andromeda had got the information she had wanted. She picked up her wand and moved towards the door.

 _Harry Potter. The Fairest._

Her brother had truly gone and joined the Order. _Nymphadora Tonks sends her regards._ Andromeda didn't think she'd ever told Voldemort Ted's last name. Harry Potter was the key. Her brother had truly _defected._ He had asked her to pledge fealty.

He wanted to save her.

 _Nymphadora Tonks sends her regards._

 **WHO**

Hermione was not going to supper. She had not been hungry after yesterday's events before the court. She ached with bruises. Luna had tried to force soup down her throat for supper but, Hermione had only taken a single bit before she felt sick again. She had gone to breakfast and eaten only after being goaded by Princess Andromeda; Hermione had been surprised to see her breaking fast at court. All day Hermione had wandered through Hogwarts, avoiding Theodore Nott and her stepbrother and betrothed. She had even escaped Luna.

Hermione had hoped to catch the Dark Lord's attention but, he ignored her, disappearing with Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape.

Hermione winced when she turned the corner and nearly collided with an Auror. She looked up. There were four of them, all surrounding Princess Narcissa.

Narcissa didn't seem surprised to see her. Her expression was cold, her lip curled as always. She had always seemed to be disgusted with one thing or another. Hermione suspected that this time, it was because she was once more confronted with her son's Mudblood bride-to-be.

"Hermione, sweet girl, what are you doing _here_ alone?" Narcissa said, her voice so soft.

Hermione looked around, nervously. She swallowed. She was near the room that Hermione had first found Narcissa doing blood magic. When she had met Nagini for the first time. Hermione bit her lower lip and frowned.

"I-I'm not sure, your Highness."

Narcissa gave a pretty frown, pouting her lips. She took a step forward. She looked so delicately beautiful, as if a sharp wind would shatter her into a million pieces. Hermione knew she was anything but in her dark navy robes. The point of her wand peeked out of her long sweeping sleeves.

"You're not _sure_ , my dear?" Narcissa murmured. "Are you feeling quite alright?"

Hermione nodded once. "I'm feeling well, your Highness. Just...fine…"

Hermione trailed off as Narcissa turned away and walked towards the door, her secret room. Hermione glanced at the Aurors. Narcissa hadn't had them last time. Perhaps, with her brother back in the castle, she feared for her safety. According to Luna, Narcissa was right to. Narcissa spun around, her wand falling into her hand, and she peered into Hermione's eyes, as if she were curious.

Two Muggle Aurors in nondescript armor and heavy chain. Two wizard Aurors, in battle leathers and chainmail. They all had broadswords. They could run her through at a moment's notice, Hermione knew. Narcissa wouldn't hesitate if she knew all the things that Hermione knew. If she knew that Hermione had seen her performing _blood_ magic, and suddenly, Queen Bellatrix was dead.

"Your Occlumency is dreadful, sweet girl," Narcissa said, her voice hard. The soft delicate nature disappeared, leaving frost.

Hermione's eyes widened and she took a step back, averting her gaze. Narcissa's lips tilted into a smile that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. Narcissa knew. Narcissa _knew_.

Hermione straightened, her dark eyes defiant, all masks of the broken, lost, _stupid_ girl gone.

"I don't have a wand on me," Hermione said, voice hard.

Narcissa laughed. "That's well and good, isn't it? You're barely better than a Muggle without it. I do not see why my son wants you. Perhaps, it is because you bruise so _prettily_ ," Narcissa said, pressing a hand to the green bruise on the underside of Hermione's jaw. Hermione hissed in pain.

She did not flinch away.

"Your son is a _beast_ ," Hermione bit out.

"Careful, girl," Narcissa barked, pulling her hand away, dragging it down Hermione's neck, over her breast and then finally it fell away. "You are powerless here. I know your secrets."

"And I know _yours_. Knowledge is power, especially when it can destroy your enemies," Hermione retorted. Her stomach rolled. Bile was threatening to choke her. Hermione refused to look down the hallway, refused to search for someone to save her.

Narcissa looked at her, unimpressed. Hermione waited for her to call her bluff, but the Princess didn't. She turned away, disinterested, and Hermione could finally breathe again, her rib cage expanding with life.

"Seize her."

Hermione gasped when the two Muggle Aurors grabbed onto her arms, roughly. She struggled against them and they flew back. Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't done accidental magic since she was a girl. Narcissa looked at her, her bright eyes delighted and she nodded. The two wizard Aurors raised their wands.

" _Petrificus Totalus_."

Hermione went stiff, her arms snapping tight to either side of her. Her eyes darted around, wildly, her scream frozen in her chest. Narcissa tilted her head.

"Slit her throat. Slowly, mind you. I'd like it to be slow," Narcissa decided.

Hermione tried to close her eyes but, couldn't. She watched as steel slid against steel as a dagger was unsheathed. She was going to die. She was going to _die_ , painfully and without her wand. Hermione didn't believe in any gods, not like the Albion people nor like Fleur and her sister. Hermione hoped Fleur was her through her stupid spinning wheel. She hoped Fleur saw the fate she condemned her friend to. She didn't want her friend to feel guilty. She wanted her to know that just because she could speak languages of past, present, and future, didn't mean she should. Hermione was going to die, alone and friendless, in a country that wasn't hers.

She felt cool metal against her throat.

"Wait! I've changed my mind. Release her!" Narcissa laughed. Hermione heard the countercurse muttered and she staggered, nearly crumpling to the floor. She stared at Narcissa, terrified. "Take three steps back. Turn around. Close your eyes. Hold your ears."

Hermione watched as every order was followed without a single complaint. Narcissa looked pleased. It was the most expressive look that Hermione had seen on her face yet. This demure and submissive woman did not exist. There was only diamond. This woman that was domineering and cold, and _everything_.

Narcissa walked up to the shaking girl and smoothed out her skirts. She smiled, the same maternal smile she gave Draco. She tipped Hermione's head up with a single finger.

"My dear girl," she whispered, affectionately. " _Power_ is power."

 **IS**

Luna sat on the windowsill, staring out into the Quad, center of the Hogwarts Castle. The great tree standing in the middle was so large and old, the branches scratched at Luna's cheeks. The night was stiller than she remembered it. The stones, the wet grass, and the tree looked beautiful bathed in the celestial light. If Luna craned her neck, she could see her namesake through the branches and the leaves.

Luna liked the night. The moon looked the same as it had in the city-states.

She swung her legs, dangling them outside the window. Her legs bounced against the solid stones, scraping gently.

"Luna."

Luna looked over her shoulder. Her solemn expression melted away and her lips curved into a goofy smile. The man looked down at her. He didn't smile. He was not the smiling kind of man but, there was a twinkle in his eyes. He wasn't unhappy to see her.

"Lord Lestrange," Luna greeted.

The man moved towards her and leaned against the frame of the open window. His chest pressing against her back and Luna relaxed into the man's heat.

"Don't call me that."

"Okay. Rodolphus," Luna corrected herself. She slowly stood on the sill and his hands flashed out, fingers wrapping around her tiny waist. She turned to look down at the beautifully scarred man.

He was in no rush to release her and she was in no rush to escape him. They enjoyed the silence together. Luna didn't want to talk. There were times when she could go on and on and on about what the nargles and wrackspurts told her. And then, there were the moments when she wished the entire world silent and it did as she bid.

"Luna, why aren't you asleep?"

" _Ah, Moon — and Star!_

 _You are very far —_

 _But were no one_

 _Farther than you —_

 _Do you think I'd stop_

 _For a Firmament —_

 _Or a Cubit — or so?_ " Luna recited, mumbles and rambles. Rodolphus took a step closer. Even with her on the tall windowsill, she was only just a height with him. He brushed his lips against both of her cheeks.

"You're tired. I think you should sleep," Rodolphus said.

Luna closed her eyes, shaking her head.

" _I could borrow a Bonnet_

 _Of the Lark —_

 _And a Chamois' Silver Boot —_

 _And a stirrup of an Antelope —_

 _And be with you — Tonight!_ "

"Luna—" Rodolphus began and Luna pressed her fingers to Rodolphus's lips, feeling his breathing against her skin. Luna shuddered as she stared into his mismatched eyes. She brought a finger up to his scar, tracing it down.

Rodolphus relaxed under her touch.

 _"_ _But, Moon, and Star,_

 _Though you're very far —_

 _There is one — farther than you —_

 _He — is more than a firmament — from Me —_

 _So I can never go!"_

Rodolphus pulled her forward, nearly lifting her off the stone. Luna tangled her fingers in his hair and clung to him.

"I am never far from you," Rodolphus swore and Luna smiled, sweetly.

She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

"Recite poetry to me. Isn't that part of courtly love? Or so the wrackspurts tell me," Luna said, teasing the scarred man. Rodolphus only snorted.

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

"You trying to trick me into thinking that you're alright after rambling that poem?" Rodolphus asked.

Luna glared down at him, jerking out of his hold. She caught herself on the windowsill before she tumbled out into the branches of the single tree.

"My ramblings belong to the wrackspurts," Luna said, sharply. She hopped off the windowsill and she moved to walk away. A hand wrapped around her wrist, yanking her back.

"And I belong to you," Rodolphus whispered. "Why aren't you asleep, Luna?"

Luna clung to him. "I was sleeping. I dreamt of the city-states."

"Good dreams?" Rodolphus whispered.

"No." Luna's voice cracked. "I… today, they _hurt_. Make it go away."

Luna knew that he couldn't. The monsters wouldn't go away and the both knew it. But, he did understand what she was asking. Rodolphus backed her up against the wall and pressed two kisses to her eyelids, brushing his lips down her cheekbones and a peck on her cheeks. He pressed a kiss to each side of her neck before he licked his way into her mouth and Luna pulled him tight against her. She didn't care that he was probably hurting his neck. It didn't matter.

This was all that mattered.

Rodolphus pulled back and stared at her.

He would never regret the scar on his face nor the blindness. Nothing would matter more than this small spot of perfect. Nothing mattered more than the way her blonde hair turned into spun silver in the moonlight. Her eyes, bright as the moon. Her lips, kiss-swollen.

" _I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_

 _or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off._

 _I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_

 _in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

 _I love you as the plant that never blooms_

 _but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;_

 _thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,_

 _risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body._

 _I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where._

 _I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;_

 _so I love you because I know no other way_

 _than this: where I does not exist, nor you,_

 _so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,_

 _so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep,_ " Rodolphus whispered in her ear.

Luna closed her eyes and smiled.

Lady Hermione Granger stifled her gasp as she took in the scene. Rodolphus pressed his lips against Luna's. Luna kissed back with ferocity, wrapping her arms around Rodolphus' neck, yanking his head down to her. Hermione took a step forward when an arm wrapped around her middle and a hand slapped against her mouth. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound emerged.

Someone had nonverbally _Silenced_ her.

The strong, calloused hands tugged her away from the scene, jerking her through the closest door. Hermione stumbled, her eyes narrowed as she tried to see through the unending darkness. Three times, she had been assaulted in the past two days. Three times, without a wand. The door locked.

Suddenly, the candles within the room illuminated in the space. Hermione blinked.

The man before her was handsome. That was the first thing she noticed. His hair was dark and waved to his ears. His face was unshaven, marked with stubble. The shape of his jaw was so familiar. She thought she might've seen him at court before.

"Who are you?" Hermione barked.

"My Lady, please don't scream," he begged, hands held up.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't going to. Now, tell me. Who are you?"

"Rabastan Lestrange, my Lady. I'm Lord Lestrange's younger brother. I swear," the man said, wrenching up his left sleeve. Hermione looked down at the skull and snake tattoo that marked a Death Eater. Hermione swallowed, relieved.

It was an odd thing to feel safer with a Death Eater than with a Muggle Auror.

"Why did you manhandle me into this room?" Hermione said, gesturing vaguely at the old moth-ridden bed that dominated the room.

Rabastan shook his head. "No, my Lady. I'm not...that's not…"

"You're young, aren't you?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, my Lady. My brother...well, he practically raised me," Rabastan said. Hermione knew that to be true. He could be, at most, ten annuals older than her. Nothing more.

"Why did you manhandle me, Lord Rabastan? I wake up in the middle of the night and my servant girl is missing. I go to find her, and she is in the arms of your brother. Do I not have a right to question why she has gone? What if he is forcing himself on her?" Hermione demanded.

She knew all about noblemen forcing themselves on servant girls. She wouldn't let that happen to Luna.

"Did that look like he was forcing himself on her? He loves her. He loves her, my Lady. More than anything else," Rabastan said, eyes wide. He was practically on his knees, begging for his brother. Hermione's glare softened.

"What… how did the pureblood Lord of an old, respected House fall in love with a servant girl?" Hermione rasped.

Rabastan stood and looked around, shiftily. "It began with the death of the deathless. His love for her cost him an eye. Please, don't make him give her up. Don't ruin this for my brother," he begged and Hermione sighed, looking away for a long moment.

"How did this happen?"

"It's not my fairy story to tell," Rabastan said, softly. "Good nothing, my Lady."

And with that, he was gone.

 **FAIREST**

"My Lord! My Lord!"

The Dark Lord didn't turn to address the young Lady Granger as he continued into the stables, preparing for his journey the next day. Sunset approached and he had hoped to have a moment of silence before supper.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as her shrill cries carried after him. His head pounded. Narcissa's machinations gave him a headache and Lucius' protests at being replaced on the council by his ungrateful brat of a son had been a task of endurance. His only reprieve had been that sweet girl that had taken it so well.

"My Lord!"

Voldemort spun around hissed, " _What_?"

Lady Granger faltered. Her eyes were wide at his hostility. Voldemort's lips curled into a sneer. Did the girl think that they would become confidants simply because her maid had had the sense to tell him of what transpired in his absence?

"I thought...I thought you would have done something by now," Lady Granger said, her voice soft.

Voldemort scoffed.

"Do what, exactly? Your betrothed is quite comfortable in that ugly chair of his," Voldemort said, mockingly and Granger glared.

"But, Luna said...Luna said if I told you, you would do something," she said.

"You _are_ a daft girl. I can do nothing. I am Chancellor of the Realm, still. But, in my absence, the council has shifted as have alliances. You tell me that Narcissa murdered my sister but, you know what I do _not_ have: _evidence_. Something you failed to provide," Voldemort snarled.

Granger's glare burned a thousand times hotter. Voldemort's lips twitched. Insulting Granger's intelligence was the best way to rile her up. She prided herself on her wits and wits, she did have. She had survived Narcissa and her son so far. The boy-king thought that he would have a submissive, well-beloved queen. The boy-king thought that he could beat her into the mold. Granger played the role well.

" _Will_ you stop him, though?" she demanded. "He's mad. He'll destroy this empire. He puts everyone and everything in danger. Narcissa threatened me. She performed Occlumency on me and I-"

"She read your mind?" Voldemort demanded, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward roughly. Granger shrieked but, baleful, fell silent under his fearsome gaze. He stirred with fury. This girl would be better off dead. But, no. He needed her alive for now. He needed her to distract the stupid boy and his mad mother. "Did you confirm her suspicions? You must be an idiot or suicidal."

"I'm neither!" Granger snapped, yanking herself away. "I don't know Occlumency and I don't have a wand. Three times, I have been assaulted and manhandled in the past two days. You will not touch me again. I will not make it four."

Voldemort stared at her for a long moment. All of these young witches and wizards had balls the size of a bull. He was impressed.

"You could've ruined everything, girl. Narcissa is a Slytherin. Never meet her eyes. She's cunning and knows what to do and what to say to appear discreet. That is what power means to her," Voldemort said, his voice soft. Hermione nodded, looking down. "I have always believed good things come in threes, Lady Granger."

Granger looked up, eyes wide. "What do you mean, my Lord?"

"You are a fool. But, a loyal one," Voldemort allowed. "You will remain here at the boy-king's side."

Granger looked down.

"Please, don't leave again, my Lord. Draco is a gruesome, macabre sadist. His mother allows this because it makes him happy. He has me beaten for nothing. I don't even want to be here. I want to go home," Granger whispered, trembling.

Voldemort tilted his head, looking over her. She was a survivor, this one. He could tell. She reminded him of Andromeda, in a way.

"I've only had this one home and it has been taken over by a little fool and his mother," Voldemort said. He paused, reaching into the satchel that he was going to lock away.

Slowly, he drew forth a wand-it was vinewood, a gently crafted thing. Granger let out a quiet sob, and she reached forward and then, as if afraid to touch it. As if she were afraid that it wasn't real. Voldemort smirked.

"My Lord…"

"I asked for this from my sister yesterday. She knows better than to ask me why. You will protect yourself," Voldemort said.

Hermione took it and cradled the slim wand to her chest, trembling.

"One day...you shall return to find your nephew in a grave," Hermione hissed, looking up at him with burning eyes.

And Voldemort saw it then. She had wisdom in her eyes. A survivor's eyes. Like Andromeda. Like the eyes trapped in the mirror. She meant every word. She would spin a spider's web and would help trap Draco. She would be useful to the Fairest. Voldemort turned away from her, making his way back to the castle. He paused and looked over his shoulder.

"Not if I kill him first," he taunted. "I leave at dawn. Hide the wand, Hermione Granger."

Granger fell to her knees, clutching her wand to her breast and then, as she sat, she began to spin the web.

 **OF**

The blonde woman pulled the black veil from her face, carefully folding it on the bedside table, a slight smile playing around her lips. Her sweet sister, already fifteen, nearly a woman, was fast asleep. Gabrielle hadn't fallen asleep so quickly since their mother had been around to put her to sleep herself. Fleur Delacour leaned down, brushing a kiss against Gabrielle's brow before she blew out the candle.

She left the room as quietly as she could, shutting the door behind her. Fleur would normally curl into bed with Gabrielle but, there were more pressing matters. Fleur descended the creaking steps, passing into her shop.

Fleur smiled proudly at the beautiful dresses in her windows. The large loom against the far wall was still going, sustained by Fleur's magic until she went to bed. She had been weaving when she had to practically drag a yawning Gabrielle up the stairs. Gabrielle was always reading, a strange habit she had picked up from Fleur's friend, Hermione Granger.

Fleur stepped over three baskets of mending, moving into the back room. She quickly shut the door and lifted her wand.

" _Colloportus_ ," Fleur cast. The door glowed and the lock clicked. The room was entirely dark. " _Lumos._ "

The light of her wand turned the silvery-blonde sheet of her hair to the color of the moon. She flicked her wand, sending balls of light up into the room. The spinning wheel peeked out from the sheet in the corner of the room. Fleur went to it, sitting by its, ripping the sheet away. It was already spinning. So, indeed, it _was_ time. The new moon fast approached.

The young Veela began to spin imaginary thread, just as her mother taught her, and her mother before her, and so on and so forth until the Dtrwies. She began to speak the ancient guttural tongue of her began, and air and magic came to her. Fleur watched as magic spun through the air, painting a picture for her. The magic spiraled into a thick, heady swirl of energy.

" _Pokazhite mne proshloe_ ," Fleur whispered in the language of days past.

Devastation. The world burned. The village burned, overrun with Aurors, Muggle and wizarding alike. They cursed the Muggles, tortured them, sending them flying through the air. Fleur hummed as she watched a large, overweight man bounce through the air, his screams terrible in Fleur's ears but, mute to anyone else. He landed on the ground with a sickening crack and when the terrible blond man, the Auror leader, gutted him, entrails and bile rushed from the gaping wound. The overweight man was unable to move from the ground, his legs still. He was attempting to hold his organs inside of him, fingers sliding through intestine, growing weaker and weaker. A tall blonde woman and another overweight boy screamed, trying to pull him along. A woman, with red braids, with a phoenix upon their breast.

" _Ukaž mi budoucnost,_ " Fleur whispered, in the language of the future.

The world shifted. Fleur's eyes widened when she saw her best friend. Hermione, in a long silken white dress robe, a green scarf over her shoulder-Slytherin green. Her beautiful brown curls were twisted into a painfully elaborate style. She was mouthing someone, terror and awe and triumph warring in her eyes. Mouthing something, _Wyrdfod_. Fleur shivered. _Wyrdfod_. Why would a non-believer be calling the _Wyrdfod_?

There was a shriek that sounded like nothing Fleur had heard before, and fire. So much fire.

The image shivered.

King Draco sat upon a palomino palfrey horse, two long knives on each wrist. Sitting on a white horse, was a woman in chainmail and crystal. Her long blond hair streamed out behind her, a crossbow in one hand, her wand in another. Her eyes were the coldest that Fleur had ever seen in her life.

The shrieking again. It came from the sky, from the ground, from the _boy_.

He was beautiful. Crimson leather armor, lined with gold. A mess of black hair. Red lips. White skin. He sat atop a horse, a silver horse. A long chain was wrapped around his wrist, and he was still. Even still, he flickered like Fire. At the heel of his horse was a fully grown albino lioness, her teeth bloody. The boy...the _boy_. Wyrdfod. It echoed. Hermione's voice, _Wyrdfod. Wyrdfod._

The image shivered.

The boy. The _boy-Wyrdfod-_ stood in the middle of a castle that Fleur knew was Hogwarts Castle. The courtyard was dominated by a single tree. An old crone sat at the foot of it, a single thing cradled in her gnarled hands. Wyrdfod watched her, the chain gone. The lioness gone. The old crone was singing and smiled. She offered her gift.

A single red apple.

The magic died. Fleur cursed. The hardest part was approaching and the magic had _died_. She spun harder, focusing all of her energy. Seeing what was. Seeing what going to pass. Those things were easy. Seeing the now. Well, she'd need everything.

" _Ukaž mi Súčasnosť."_

The magic swirled anxiously and the White Woman breathed heavily as she saw Hermione again. She had never seen the same person in one session. She almost never saw _true_ images in her sessions. Only flashes. The Dtrwies were trying to speak to her. They would speak truth into her.

Hermione was cradling a wand to her chest, staring up at a man.

The man was beautiful with blood for eyes. Blood for eyes. _Elfarexaj_. Kingmaker. Kingmaker.

The image ended and Fleur slumped away as the spinning wheel trembled with its power. She raised her hands, waiting.

The spinning wheel spun.

 **THEM ALL?**

The old crone walked in long strides, limping forward. She stopped, breathing hard as she leaned on her stick. She had traveled long and far through the Forest, across the Western Bridge of the Narrow Sea, through Afallon, her sister's lands, to the edges of the sea. She had used the little magic that she still possessed to sustain herself. Only when she had nearly broken, had she begged for a man to side-Apparate her as close to the sea as he would. Her skirt caught on a bramble and she tugged hard, the hem of her skirts already in tatters.

Weeds and leaves were tangled in the creases of her burlap cloak. The wrinkles in her face had deepened with exhaustion and age. The black magick that she had wrought would be her end, just as Albus Dumbledore had threatened her with. Unless...unless, she got to the Warlock of the Sea in time, she would die. Bellatrix was not in the business of dying. She dealt in ruling.

Her death had been Narcissa's eventual intentions. Bellatrix's lips curled into a sneer. Her cowardly sister had condemned her but, couldn't swing the sword herself. She was weak. So, weak. Bellatrix made a sound at the back of her throat, grumbling. She heard her voice echo through the forest. Had she been speaking aloud? No?

"Yes? Are we speaking aloud?" Bellatrix hissed.

The rustle of the trees answered her back. The dirt ground was shifting to sand, beads of grains filling her soft, tearing slippers. Bellatrix paused when she heard the singing. She limped forward faster. As the singing grew louder, so did the crashing of waves against the shore.

She stepped through the parting between the trees.

Two girls stood on the wet shores, dancing and laughing as they ran into the tides and then ran back onto drier ground. They were naked, fire reflecting the water upon their pale skin. The first girl had dark hair, and a round, dumpy face. But, she sang, happily, her wet dark hair falling down her back. The second girl had blonde hair, blonde like her sister's. She emerged from the water again, dragging a dirty, gray matted thing after her. She swung it around her like a cape, giggling.

The second girl...she was _beautiful_.

Bellatrix stepped forward, entranced by the bewitching song. They weren't speaking any language that Bellatrix understood. It sounded like the speech of the _sidhe_ , yet it was not high and sweet. This was a deep, guttural language and it was not pretty. The song was not beautiful.

"Who are you?"

The dark-haired girl watched her, curiously. The beautiful one took a step back, covering her naked body with the matted thing around her body. Bellatrix gave the smile of a sweet old lady.

"We are looking for someone," Bellatrix rasped, her voice cracking and folding.

"Who do you seek, witch?" the beautiful girl with flaxen-hair barked.

So like _Narcissa_.

"Who's asking, little one?" Bellatrix creaked.

The beautiful girl made a guttural sound. Her name. The dark-haired girl laughed, bright and beautiful.

"She doesn't understand you. You need a human name!" the dark-haired girl giggled.

Bellatrix's eyes fell on the matted cloak. No. Not cloak. _Skin_.

"My name's Olive," the beauty said.

"A selkie," Bellatrix finished.

The girls looked at each other. The dark-haired one scrambled for her own skin, holding the oily matted thing to her chest, covering pale tear-drop breasts and the thick of hair between her thighs. Bellatrix's face folded as she smiled, showing off her rotting teeth.

"I'm Myrtle. My name is Myrtle," the dark-haired girl said.

"Myrtle and Olive. Two beautiful selkies," Bellatrix flattered.

Olive curled in on herself. Myrtle nodded, her wet hair wagging and swinging around her round face. Were all ugly people as stupid as this girl, Bellatrix wondered.

"Where can we find the Warlock of the Sea?" Bellatrix asked.

Olive took a step backward but, Myrtle scurried forward, so very helpful. Bellatrix laughed, gently as Myrtle took her by her hands and tugged her towards the sea.

"Oh! You must walk across the sea along the salt bridge. Come," she said.

Bellatrix smiled, reaching up her sleeve. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her knife.

Olive let out a guttural sound. Myrtle's name, then. "Come on. It's time to go home."

"We're just helping her!" Myrtle protested. "Why can't you be nice?"

Olive shook her head, frantically. "N-no, Myrtle, don't be an idiot. Come-" she broke off with a gasp.

Myrtle cried out, her back arching, blood seeping from her wet body, dripping onto her selkie skin. Bellatrix snatched it in her gnarled hand. Myrtle staggered, blood pouring from her belly, soaking Olive's feet and the sand around them

"Thank you for your assistance," Bellatrix said, wrapping the selkie skin around her.

Olive shrieked, letting out a guttural sound. She turned on her heel and ran for the ocean, diving in, leaving bloody footprints in her wake. Bellatrix looked down at the body. It wasn't the beautiful one but, youth had some power of its own.

Bellatrix dragged the body to the rising tides of the sea and bit down into the girl's bare breast, ripping her heart out with her teeth. Blood met foam. She swallowed the selkie's heart, gasping as youth replenished her. Her skin smoothed, though she still felt old enough to be her mother. Her dress hung slightly looser, having lost the weight of old age. She grinned her bloody grin, looking up at the new moon.

Let the girl run. Let her tell the creatures of the sea whom would tell creatures of the land.

Let the Warlock of the Sea know that she was coming.

Let the world know that she would be back.

:::

 **A/N:** So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Please drop a review. I love to hear readers' thoughts and I LOVE engaging with you all. It gives me energy to continue.


	14. Chapter Twelve

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twelve

Andromeda stalked across the gardens and orchards, her eyes trained on her brother's back as he strode to the stables, ready to escape _again_. The Warden wasn't sure if he knew that she followed him but, she wasn't afraid to make her presence known. Her brother had told her _Nymphadora Tonks sends her regards_ two days ago, and then, nothing more. He taunted her, teased her, lorded over her with the fact that he _knew_ something.

Andromeda was tired.

Her Nymphadora was a woman grown now. She had been taken from Andromeda's arms when she was all but three. Andromeda tired of being in the dark, tired of the endless thirst for vengeance. Revenge was a tiresome business that she was growing wary of, just as she had grown wary of her own brother, the man who had sworn to protect her and she had sworn to protect. They had been blood. They _were_ blood.

"Brother! Brother!" Andromeda shouted.

She watched her brother stiffen for just a moment before he continued into the stable. Andromeda stormed in, her yellow skirts and chain mail billowing around her. She glowered at him as he mounted the black beast of a horse, just as dark as he.

"Dromeda, please. I must go," Voldemort said, looking far more tired than she had seen him in quite some time.

Perhaps, that wasn't true, though. Perhaps he had been tired for the past sixteen years. Andromeda truly _looked_ at her brother. Ever since he had taken the name 'Voldemort', when they had cut down the Founders, he had looked tired.

"I want to know where you're going. I want to know if you've truly seen my daughter," Andromeda demanded. Voldemort blinked, owlishly, as if he had no idea how to answer her.

"I see."

"Do you?" she retorted, hands on her hips.

"Dromeda, must we do this now?" Voldemort asked.

She scoffed. "So, we speak and play your games when you wish it. Not when it comes to _my_ daughter, _Tom._ Not when you ask me to swear fealty to a boy that I've never met. When you've aligned yourself with the Order, our sworn enemy."

Voldemort looked around, searching for spies first before he turned to his sister.

"Lower your voice," he snarled.

Andromeda rolled her eyes and waved her wand, casting the Human-revealing-spell. There was nothing, not the slightest of swooping feelings. Andromeda turned back to her brother and cast a privacy ward, buzzing in her ears.

"Shall we continue, then, Tom?" Andromeda asked.

"Do not call me by that name," Voldemort hissed.

Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Fine. Tell me, is the boy so good in bed that you will align yourself with our enemy? His tongue so-"

"Andromeda, no," was all that Voldemort said. Andromeda faltered. She had not heard her full name from him in that tone in quite some time. "Narcissa killed my sister. I will avenge her. I will avenge this empire. My work will not die with her. I ask you to swear fealty to them because, for all intents and purposes, you are neutral. You have executed Order and Aurors alike for committed crimes on your land. You are fair and just and I would see you survive this war."

Andromeda paused. It was the closest thing to _I love you_ that she'd ever heard from her brother. She hummed, waiting, hesitating. She walked up to him, her neck straining.

"And Nymphadora...sends her regards?"

Voldemort hesitated for just a moment. He looked into her gaunt, hardened face. She had once laughed. He couldn't remember the sound. Now, she was hollowed by grief and had made her bones to iron. She was the Warden now.

"Yes," he said.

"Will you tell me if she...says anything else?" Andromeda asked.

She wanted him to confirm that Nymphadora lived. She wanted him to say it.

He sighed. "Yes," he said and then he was off, galloping for the South.

 **MIRROR**

"You've been avoiding me, Aunt Petunia."

Petunia stiffened as she tugged down more of her and Dudley's freshly laundered clothing from the clothesline. She plucked off the pins and dropped them into her basket. The Order, and more specifically, Ginny Weasley, had been kind to her. She had introduced Petunia to some of the other Muggle women and the women had given her and Dudley clothes. Petunia wasn't sure if they were being kind under McGonagall's order.

"I haven't, your Highness," Petunia said, her voice as unfeeling as wood. Slowly, she looked up at the boy that had been placed in her care for nearly two decades.

He had always been so beautiful.

For all of the other things about him that were lacking-he was wilful, stubborn, and had a mouth on him-he had never been lacking in beauty.

Harry laughed. It was a sad laugh. Had his laugh always been sad? Had Petunia ever heard him laugh before?

"You raised me to be your servant. Don't call me that."

Petunia froze. If he won the war, he could have her thrown into jail for her treatment of him. It was what she would do. But, Harry was not her. He was too soft for that.

"Don't say something stupid like that, brat," Petunia retorted. She paused, a grim smile spreading across her face as she realized whom it was she was speaking to.

"There's my Aunt Petunia. Always treating me like I'm the ground that she walks upon."

Petunia grimaced. "I apologize, your Highness."

Harry scowled as he stepped closer, watching her with green eyes.

"I have a question for you, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, his voice so soft.

"I imagine you can ask me anything."

Harry tilted his head. "Did you know what the villagers called me?"

 _Whore. Slut. Freak. Monster._

"Yes," Petunia said. She had no reason to lie. She had never spoken those words to him. She had heard her husband hiss 'freak' at him. She had heard her son and his friends whisper 'whore'. But, Petunia had never said a single word to him.

"Okay," Harry said, softly. "The Order makes me feel like you did."

"How did I make you feel?" Petunia spat, looking him in the face, daring him. Harry was smiling but, fuck, it was a _sad_ smile. What did he have to be sad about? "Like you didn't belong? Your Highness, you _didn't._ I never called you a single one of those vile words."

"But, you knew," Harry retorted, just as angry. And _there_ was the stubborn, wilful boy that she had been forced to raise. There he was. "You knew what they called me. And it _hurts_. They call me 'whore' here. They call me a prince, raise me up on this pedestal, and treat me like the prince of whores. Like I can be _owned._ "

Petunia paused, looking at this angry boy, and wondered. Harry Wildfyre. That's what the refugees called him. She could see the fire. She had always seen the fire. They didn't call him 'whore' out here. Perhaps, the younger boys. But, they were boys and they would learn. No, the others, the adults, respected him. They believed he had made the ultimate sacrifice, sleeping with the Dark Lord.

She could say something petty. She could break him. But, no, Harry was not broken easily. Even as he complained to her, he was not broken. He wanted someone to tell him that he was broken. It would not be Petunia that told him that he wasn't broken, only cracked.

"I am not your confidant," she said, instead.

Harry took a step forward, sneering. "You are what I _say_ you are," he snarled. "You treated me like _shit_ for years. Like I was _nothing_. I am the Prince of Gryffindor. I am the Fairest. I will be _King._ You are what I _say_ you are."

Petunia's lips pulled into a colorless smile.

"Have you told them that?" she asked, turning her back on him, hefting up her massive basket, grunting softly. When she turned back to him, he was staring at her.

"What do you mean?" he asked, softly, thoughtfully.

Petunia slid her basket to her side, tucking it into the bony cradle of her side.

"Nothing has changed for you. You can tell me who you are all you want but, it won't change what they call you. Nothing has changed because you haven't asked for things to change. The Order thinks you are incompetent because you haven't done anything but lie on your back and spread your legs," Petunia said, her cornflower blue eyes cold. "They are old men. They are not beautiful. For beautiful people, sometimes, the best weapon is between the legs."

Harry flushed. He looked down, squirming, and Petunia smirked. There he was.

"I-"

"I wasn't _finished_ ," Petunia bit out, her lip curled into a sneer. "For people like me, _ugly_ people, we _demand_ respect. You have not. Just as you never demanded _my_ respect. If you want something in this world, you _demand_ it. Don't lie on your back and take it like a whore."

Harry stared at her and he tilted his head, looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Petunia felt a flash of _hate_. This beautiful boy. She resented him. He was no better than her, practically a bastard of two Houses. His parents had been married in secret. Who was to say he _was_ legitimate? But, it was all in secrets. Two bastards, one known and the other legitimized by the secrecy surrounding his birth.

"I am the Prince of Gryffindor," Harry said, oddly cold. His hands glowed with fire. Petunia pressed her lips into a thin line. "The next time the word 'whore' comes out of your mouth in the same sentence as my name, I will _kill_ you."

Petunia nodded once, and looked down at the grass, hiding her smile. "Yes, your Highness."

 **MIRROR**

Dudley didn't know what to think about the Order camp. It was strange. Everywhere he turned there were clothes washing themselves along with the Muggle women, small children chasing flying balls. There was laughter. Everyone looked _happy_ , in hiding from the Slytherins. Everywhere he looked, Muggles worked alongside wizarding kind like they hadn't been told how different they had been for years.

Everywhere he looked, there was hope.

And all that hope resided in Harry Wildfyre.

Dudley watched him, with the other teenagers. They were in awe. So was Dudley but, perhaps, for different reasons. They didn't know Harry from Little Whinging. They didn't know how different he was here. Harry had always been stubborn and beautiful but, with steel in his hand, with a wand, in battle leathers, he looked terrifying.

The servant-boy was a Prince. A war prince. He dueled with Ginny's youngest brother, Ron, sparring with live steel.

Ron made the first move, and Harry easily knocked the blow away with his own blade. He spun, drawing his wand and shouting a spell. Ron ducked out of the way of the purpose close, drawing his own wand. Harry snickered and thrust with his sword. Ron parried and spun into his space, intent on making Harry submit. Harry headbutt Ron in the nose, sending the boy flying back.

"Dirty hit!" Ron shouted.

"There's no dirty hits in war!" Harry laughed.

Ginny clapped from her perch just a few yards away. Harry laughed even louder, launching forward again, intent on disarming Ron. They exchanged blow after heavy blow, jinxes and hexes flying at Harry. As Harry blocked the blade, he shouted spells, dodging hexes after jinxes. Harry hissed something at Ron that made him throw his head back and then, Harry spun and had his wand to Ron's temple and a blade to Ron's jugular.

Ron dropped his sword, grudgingly impressed.

"That was good."

"Well, thank you very much. I do try," Harry snickered. Ginny laughed.

Ron rolled his eyes. "You aren't very princely, are you?"

"Don't know how to be a prince. Learning to be a king is in the process though, promise," Harry teased.

Ron rolled his eyes and pulled Harry under his arm, messing with his hair. Dudley wondered how Ron could treat Harry so _normally_. Harry had never been normal. He was untouchable, too beautiful, or he belonged to someone completely. Harry had been their servant. Dudley's friends had touched him like they owned him.

"There are some ways you can improve, Harry," Ginny shouted. "Ron, stop wrestling…"

Ginny trailed off, her eyes narrowing in the distance. Ron and Harry froze. Harry roughly shoved Ron away.

"He's back," a boy hissed to the gaggle of teenagers that Dudley had surrounded himself with.

Dudley shivered. He cringed in fear as he watched the man gallop through the camp, the refugees parting for him. The man was so tall and broad. Frightening. Dudley used to think he was awe-inspiring, when he watched him on Mortem Phoenix every year. When the Dark Lord had appeared in Little Whinging, Dudley thought that the men that faced his blade ever year probably reacted as he did.

This man tortured Muggles for fun. He had murdered Piers without a single thought. Dudley shivered, as the man's blood gaze went over the teenagers that cowered in fear. Dudley wondered if he would recognize him as the boy that had told him where to find Harry. He waited as the Dark Lord's gaze fell on him. He wondered if he was about to die, like his father. But, then the Dark Lord's gaze passed over him as if he didn't recognize him at all.

"Lord Voldemort," Harry said, his voice firm.

Dudley swallowed. Harry had been in bed with this man three days ago. The Dark Lord dismounted his horse as he approached Harry. Dudley wondered what he would do. Would he kiss Harry, claiming him? Would he attempt to kill him?

He did neither.

"Sweetling, where is Nymphadora?" he asked, looking down at Harry.

Dudley watched Harry's expression carefully. Harry's expression folded, just a bit. He cleared his throat and looked over at Ginny. Ginny's good mood had expired with the Dark Lord's arrival.

"Ginny, go get Tonks, please," Harry said.

Ginny snorted. " _Gladly_ ," she hissed, storming inside.

Ron looked like he wanted to follow after her. His dark mood darkened and he glided backwards, frowning.

"You're back already," Harry said, softly. The Dark Lord looked down at him, unspeaking for a long moment and then, the Dark Lord brushed his fingers against Harry's jaw, tilting his head up. "You have something of worth for me."

"I am in the process of convincing the Warden of the West to swear fealty to you," the Dark Lord said, quietly. Dudley ignored the whispering gossiping of the people around him, leaning in to listen more.

Harry's eyes widened. "Your sister?"

"We'll discuss it later," the Dark Lord said, looking up as the Burrow II door creaked open.

Dudley saw the whore again. He had seen her around the camp many times, her dress low cut enough to expose her breasts, wrapped in her crimson cloak. Her hair was the most shocking shade of pink and the first time Dudley's mum had seen her, she had made a noise in the back of her throat and shook her head. Dudley's mum had always had that reaction when she heard the things that men, and some women, would say about Harry.

The woman carried a strange toddler on her hip. Yesterday, the toddler's hair had been a shocking purple but, now it was an equally shocking shade of turquoise. One of the witch girls, Lavender, had tried to explain it to him. Ultimately, it was about magic, apparently.

"Nymphadora," the Dark Lord said, bypassing Harry entirely.

Harry stared after them, happiness warring with irritation.

"What's going on?" Ron muttered to Harry.

Harry raised a hand. "Watch. Tonks…"

The Dark Lord crowded the whore and stared down at her, an odd look on his face.

"Blood of my blood," he said.

The whore, Tonks or Nymphadora or _whatever_ , nodded at him. "Blood of my blood," she said. The toddler whimpered in her arms, burying his face in her neck, shyly. Tonks smiled, softly. "This is Teddy."

The Dark Lord nodded and he looked at Tonks.

"I have asked the Warden of the West to swear fealty to the Prince of Gryffindor," the Dark Lord said, his voice quiet. Tonks' eyes widened.

"You...is she going to? Will she come?" Tonks demanded.

"I think she will," the Dark Lord said. "I've told her that you live. If you meet her, she will do so."

Tonks let out a choking sound, and she squirmed, holding the toddler, Teddy, a little too tight. The toddler made a sound and Tonks released her tight hold, hushing him.

"Thank you. Thank you," Tonks whispered. "Thank you, Uncle."

Dudley's eyes widened. He looked to the other teenagers with him, looking at Lavender.

"Did you know?" he hissed.

"That Tonks is the daughter of the Warden of the _West_? Fuck no," Lavender snarled under her breath.

The Dark Lord turned away from Tonks and slowly unsheathed his sword, walking over to Harry. Harry smirked up at him, pulling his own sword.

"Thank you," Harry said, softly. "For doing that for her."

The Dark Lord snorted. "I do it because of my vow to you. I do not break deals," the Dark Lord said and Harry nodded. He spun, bringing his sword down on Harry. Harry gaped, bringing his sword up for a block, their faces so close to their crossed blades.

"No warning, my Lord?" Harry asked, breathlessly.

The Dark Lord smirked.

"First lesson, your Highness," the Dark Lord said. " _Always_ look for the wand first. _Expelliarmus_."

 **ON**

"He's gone again," Lucius hissed.

Severus looked up from his potions, irritation warring with exasperation. He held up a steady hand and sighed.

"Please don't disturb my potions," he sighed.

"Really, Severus. You think I'd act like a child in a potions lab? Merlin only knows what you're brewing in here," Lucius retorted. He leaned against the wall, glanced at the door and then turned back to Severus. Severus was the former Lord of Whispers. He had no doubt the room was as heavily warded as they come.

"Prior experience implies that you will inevitably ruin something," Severus said, carefully grinding the asphodel root into powder. "Our Lord has disappeared again. To the Prince of Gryffindor, I'm sure."

"Yes, of course, it's him," Lucius snapped. "Is he that good at taking it?"

Severus' eyes flashed with annoyance. That was _Lily_ 's son. To imply that he was anything less than the royalty that she was felt like slander. Still, he didn't protest immediately.

"He is intrigued by him. Far too much for his own good," Severus said instead.

Lucius snorted. "That boy is the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my entire life. Who wouldn't be intrigued by him?"

"I wouldn't be."

"You're mad, Severus. Absolutely mad," Lucius said in disbelief, laughing behind his gloved hand.

Severus rolled his eyes. "A mad bastard as a Death Eater would be horrifying, would it not?"

Lucius pursed his lips. "You shouldn't jest, Severus. It doesn't suit you."

"The Dark Lord returns to the boy that intrigues the world. The boy that brought our Lord to his knees with just a pretty smile. There is power in that. Beauty is power, indeed," Severus drawled, bitterly. After all, he knew all about the value of beauty.

In Bellatrix's court, Severus had been recognized as a great swordsman, but he wasn't a beautiful man. His hair was always oily from potion fumes, his nose was far too long for his face, and his lips to thin, skin too sallow. Still, his Lord's favor had kept him comfortable at court.

"He's taking his new loyalties quite seriously," Lucius said.

"I imagine so. Our Lord has very little tolerance for the idea of his death. And he _did_ make an Unbreakable Vow," Severus said, bitingly. Lucius looked haughtily offended, but Severus didn't mind that so much. It was Lucius' default expression.

"Do you not think this odd at all, Severus?"

Severus slammed the mortar and pestle down. His brow furrowed and he tucked his hair, oily from the potions fumes, behind his ear.

"Of course I find the whole situation _odd_ , Lucius. The Dark Lord is working against all that he believed in. We return from a hunt to be replaced on the council by _children_. Narcissa's idiotic son now sits upon the throne and I question the loyalties of certain Death Eaters," Severus said, sharply. He collapsed on his stool, pinching the bridge of his head. He attempted to will the headache away but, he knew that wouldn't do the trick.

Lucius did not miss how Severus had no referred to Draco as Lucius' son. He had never been particularly close to his son, no matter how similar in appearance they were, and now Lucius regretted that. Draco was a sadistic spoiled brat and he hadn't seen it until he had walked in on the Mudblood girl's public beating.

"Draco is an unfortunate king, isn't he?" Lucius said, his voice soft.

Severus looked at him, incredulous. "'Unfortunate' is mild, Lucius. That boy is a menace to the realm. He'd like to murder everything he touches. I may not be Lord of Whispers any longer but, I hear the whispers. He takes whores to his bed and they come out broken. He is not a normal boy."

"He is his mother's son," Lucius drawled. "Horrific in many ways."

Severus hummed. He had never thought Narcissa horrific but, if the way the realm was progressing was due to her, she was in fact horrific. She was horrifically intelligent. Smarter than Severus, for he had never suspected. Most definitely, she possessed an intelligence on par with the Dark Lord. A terrifying claim.

"Dolohov will meet his end. The Prince made that quite clear," Severus said. "I do not mind it. I thought him spineless once, but, perhaps not in the way I should have. A snake. He's already joined the boy-king's circle."

"House Lestrange is no longer in favor. Rodolphus tells him that he is no longer welcome to the council. He's been replaced by Antonin Dolohov as general. The heir of House Nott is the new Commander of Cavalry. Another boy in my rightful space," Lucius drawled.

Severus frowned at him. The man didn't seem too put out.

"You don't seem bothered."

"I'm not. What cavalry have I led, Severus? We haven't entered a full-scale war. There have been skirmishes, disruptions of raids. When the first battle, the real battle, begins, then, my son shall have his war he's so desperate for," Lucius said, his voice tenderly cold. It was a terrifying contradiction.

Severus hummed, resting his chin on steepled fingers. The boy-king would have his war and the Dark Lord would be pressured into allowing the Death Eaters to fight, in order to keep up appearances. Some would fight for Draco willingly. It seemed Dolohov could be counted amongst them. And wherever Dolohov went, Travers followed.

"We must protect the Dark Lord, Lucius. House Lestrange will be loyal to our Lord once he makes his changes of allegiance clear. Rodolphus was loyal even after he was slighted by Bellatrix and he despises Draco on principle. But, what do you think of House Carrow?" Severus asked.

Lucius didn't seem bothered by the sudden conversation change.

"The twins are sadists but, they are loyal. As long as they are kept in line, they should be relied upon. What do you say of Yaxley?" Lucius asked. "Yaxley and Rowle?"

"Most certainly loyal. The Dark Lord saved Rowle's family from extinction by marrying him to the Parkinson cousin. Pettigrew?" Severus demanded.

Lucius snorted, shaking his head. "Do we really consider the Rat of the Alley one of us? He's a coward."

"He'll stick with what keeps him comfortable or try to run. No matter, he is no threat," Severus said, sternly. He picked up his mortar and pestle and continued to grind the asphodel root. He wanted to have the batch of Draught of Living Death brewing.

"Rookwood is safe. Macnair is already following after my son like a loyal hound. That leaves...Barty," Lucius said.

"Ah...Barty," Severus murmured, thinking of the youngest knight. The boy was younger than even Rabastan. He kept mostly to himself though, he was often found running after Rabastan or Rodolphus when the Lestrange brothers allowed it. "What do you say of him?"

"Our Lord is fond of him. He is fond of our Lord. He is loyal," Lucius said, firmly. "I have heard whispers-"

Severus nodded. He knew all of the whispers in the walls. He knew that Blaise Zabini knew them too. Sometimes, he thought the foreign boy was watching him, even in the privacies of his own mind. It was an errant thought, fuelled by illogical suspicion. No one could break through Severus' Occlumency shields but the Dark Lord.

"Yes, the Houses are being called to court. Houses that haven't sworn fealty. Barty doesn't have to. He is in our Lord's service. His father will come. That will determine his loyalty. That will tip the scale. Bartemius Crouch comes to court."

 **THE WALL**

"-elle! Gabrielle!"

The younger blonde girl shifted in her bed, burrowing deeper into the sheets and blankets. She swatted at the hand shaking her away. That melodic voice reminded her so much of her mother. Gabrielle very much didn't need her mother at the moment. At the moment, she craved more _sleep._

"Gabrielle! If you don't wake up this instant, I will set all of your precious little books on fire!"

Gabrielle groaned, her eyes fluttering open. "I'm up...I'm up…"

She stared up through bleary eyes at her sister's bright smile. Fleur was already dressed for work, wrapped in her soft blue robes, her silvery blonde hair was pulled up, ready to be wrapped in a white veil this time. Gabrielle dreaded the day when she'd have to hide her own hair, would have to hide all of the markers that made her a Veela. She would do it, for her parents had died to keep her protected but, Gabrielle dreaded it all the same.

"Gabrielle, I need you at the front of the shop today. I'll be busy finishing a few gowns in the backroom and then, I shall be up front later to work on the loom," Fleur said. Gabrielle groaned as she swung herself out of the bed and walked towards the large wardrobe that she shared with her sister.

Gabrielle peeled through the dresses, all too fine for daily wear. She stopped, pulling out green robes.

"May I wear my green robes today?" Gabrielle asked. Fleur nodded with a smile as she smoothed back every single strand of white blonde hair in their old mirror.

As Fleur finished, she began wrapping her white veil around her hair, tucking it behind her ears, covering the entire top of her head. The magical piece of cloth dampened all of her allure, making her look like a _normal_ pretty rather than ethereal. Gabrielle was glad once again that she didn't have to wear a veil yet, though the day fast approached. Her sixteenth birthday was just a few months away.

Gabrielle tugged down her green robes, hugging them tight to her chest. Slowly, she peeled off her nightgown, leaving her in her smallclothes. She pulled the robes over her head. The dress that Fleur had made for her wasn't like the traditional clothing worn in Gaul. It was made in the fashionable Esseteriean Albion style, flowing delicate fabrics that were, reportedly, more of the Princess Narcissa's fashion of choice.

Fleur had intended to give it to Hermione before she left with her betrothed. But, once the girl had left and hadn't sent a letter back, Fleur had adjusted it to fit Gabrielle's measurements.

Gabrielle brushed her blonde hair behind her shoulders, running her fingers through it in place of a comb. Gabrielle clambered down the stairs, ignoring her sister's sharp calls in the language of their people. She absentmindedly snatched a biscuit off of the tray that her sister had set out. Quietly, munching on the dry biscuit, she picked up her book and began to read, picking up from where she had left off the night before.

Gabrielle was re-reading the chapter on the Founders' rise to power. It was her favorite book, the last chapter of the history book on Albion. Hermione had been the one to introduce books to her, something that her sister always indulged in for her. Gabrielle always had the coin to buy a new book and Hermione would usually accompany her. They could spend hours in a bookstore. Gabrielle had always been partial to history books.

Hogwarts: A History was her favorite of them all.

She adored the magically-drawn illustrations of the Founders. They were powerful and strong. Warrior kings and queens. Gabrielle's favorite illustration was one that depicted the Founders just before they had assumed their thrones. Queen Rowena had always been Gabrielle's favorite. Her tragic story was beautiful, in a terribly sad way, and her largest weapon had been wit. She reminded Gabrielle of Hermione, who she missed desperately.

Happily, she mouthed the words she read, gorging on more biscuits than she probably should. So engrossed, she didn't notice her sister emerging down the steps or the sharp trill of the magical bell.

"Gabrielle!"

Gabrielle groaned, slamming her book down. She colored as she caught sight of a disapproving Fleur and a rather annoyed customer.

"Um...sorry."

When had Gabrielle turned into Hermione?

"I'm sure," Fleur sighed, shaking her head. She turned back to the lady and pasted a sweet smile onto her face. "I am sorry, Miss. I'll take care of you. _You_ , Gabrielle. If you have time to read, you have time to mend. Come, Miss. Let me measure you."

She shot one more glare at Gabrielle before she dumped the large, dark blue garment in Gabrielle's lap with the small sewing kit. Fleur guided the customer into the back room, shutting the door with a resounding slam. Gabrielle sighed and picked up the needle. She wondered briefly if she should find a thimble, before deciding that she had pricked her thumbs enough times that she couldn't feel it.

Gabrielle threaded the needle with dark blue thread and she found the terrible rip at the bodice. As she began to mend, she admired how the thread sunk into the fabric, disappearing, making the rip seem nonexistent. Fleur was so talented at making thread. Gabrielle didn't think she'd _ever_ be that good, no matter how much Veela magic she used. Gabrielle focused on sewing as fast as she could, eager to get back to her book.

She wanted to finish it and swing by the bookstore for something new. She hoped that maybe there would be a book, finally, on the Hogwarts Massacre and all the events that had led up to it. Master Binns had reportedly just finished a manuscript and there were magical copies that Gabrielle wanted to get her hands on.

"Hello, Miss."

Gabrielle pricked her finger and she jumped, the dress sliding off her lap. Gabrielle swallowed hard as blood welled up on her finger, as bright as a ruby.

She nearly gasped when she looked up. The man was a contradiction. His smile was yellow, hairy so slicked back that it looked like an oil spill, and his nose was crooked as if it had been broken too many times. But, his broad barrel chest was covered by the finest cloth. He was an aristocrat. Gabrielle wouldn't be surprised if he was on the council of dukes and duchesses.

Gabrielle was... _intrigued_.

"H-hello, sir," she said, her voice soft.

"You're bleeding," the man murmured and he took her hand in his, kissing away the blood. He flashed her a smile. It looked more like a predator gnashing its teeth at its prey.

Gabrielle jerked her hand back, pulling it to her chest.

"Thank you," Gabrielle choked out because if there was anything she remembered her mother teaching her, it was manners.

"You're welcome. I'd like to have some of my clothing mended if that would be possible," the man said, his voice still so soft. He pulled a shrunken trunk out of his pocket, placing it carefully on the counter.

Gabrielle wouldn't have thought a man like him to have such a soft voice. He smelled like the forest, rich and earthy, and metal.

"Of course. I'll un-shrink it myself. I can send an owl to let you know how long it'll take after I assess the clothes," Gabrielle said and she leaned over the counter, propping her chin up on her arm. She looked at him through curious unflinching eyes. He smirked back at her.

"As you wish, pretty girl," he growled.

 _That_ was the type of voice Gabrielle expected a man like him to have. She was both put off and pulled in. There was something different about this man. He wasn't completely human, like her. And yet, he didn't hide it nearly as well as he should in the Republic. Creatures were murdered here. Second-class citizens.

And then it struck her. He had called her 'pretty'.

She flinched. "Thank you," she breathed.

The man nodded slowly and then he turned around, staring at her until he couldn't anymore. He strode to the door and then stopped, his hand on the doorknob. Gabrielle didn't even realize that she was holding her breath. The man spun back around and walked right up to the counter. He leaned over the wood between the two of them, his face just inches from Gabrielle's.

"It had just occurred to me that I didn't leave my name for the order," the man said.

Gabrielle flushed. She had _forgotten._ Gabrielle cleared her throat and reached under the counter for her sister's book and quill, where she kept all of the orders. Gabrielle bit her lower lip.

"Your name, sir?"

"Names are powerful, you know," he drawled. "It's not fair if you know mine and I don't know _yours_. How about a name for a name, pretty girl?"

Gabrielle cleared her throat. "My...my name's Gabrielle."

The strange man bared his teeth again.

"The name's Fenrir Greyback, and I'll be seeing you _very_ soon."

 **WHOM**

The Dark Lord watched her.

The arrows flew through the air, hitting the targets in successive thuds. She never missed dead-center, her gaze sharp even in the near darkness. She pulled another arrow out, nocked it, and let it fly, all in seconds. The arrows were beautiful, iron-tipped, hand-crafted.

Ginevra Weasley hadn't missed once.

"You're very good," Voldemort observed.

Ginevra spun around, her bow and arrow now pointed at him. When she realized it was the Dark Lord, she didn't relax or drop the weapon. Her hands tightened, her eyes narrowing.

"I know."

Arrogant. Arrogant like the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters. It was matter of fact. She was confident in her abilities. Voldemort felt something like respect stir within him. He stared at the iron-tipped arrow with a raised eyebrow, waiting. Slowly, she lowered it to her side, still holding the arrow threateningly.

There was hatred in her brown eyes and Voldemort understood that too. He had been the one to sentence one of her uncles' death and had promptly executed the other. If there was anything less than hatred, Voldemort would be surprised. The only person that _should_ hate him more would be Prince Harry, and he was a strange one-talking about wants and needs, cracked where he should be broken.

"You're still here. Why?" Ginevra barked.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. He hadn't spoken to like that in years. If he were anywhere else, he would torture her. He had not taken a vow to protect any of these people but the prince but, he'd prefer not to have the boy mistrust him more than he naturally did.

"How do you mean?" Voldemort asked.

"You taught Harry for the day. You can go back to your castle now, _my Lord_ ," she said, mockingly. Voldemort hummed.

"You hate me," he drawled. "Why?"

Ginevra looked at him with skepticism. Voldemort frowned at her disbelief, patiently waiting for her answer. Ginevra didn't say anything immediately, gathering her wits at the sudden inquiry.

"Do you remember anyone that you've killed? Everyone that you've sentenced to die?"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Only the important ones," he said.

Ginevra's nostrils flared and she turned white underneath her freckles.

"When I was a girl, you sent your Death Eaters on a raid to a village called Ottery St. Catchpole. That raid was led by Antonin Dolohov and Torquil Travers. My parents were part of the Order, you know. We were in the process of moving to this camp, when it was just a fledgling of tents. Your Death Eaters found out. I was the last one at the house. With my brother and my parents. They hid me and Ron. Ron crawled up the fireplace. They put me in a barrel, buried in grains. Travers murdered my father first," Ginevra said, her gaze out of focus. Her brow furrowed. "Then, they tortured my mother. She gave them a fight but, they ultimately killed her."

"She sounds like quite the witch," Voldemort said.

Ginevra's eyes came back into focus. "She _was._ My story isn't done."

"Well, then. What next?" Voldemort hissed.

"They heard me scream. I screamed when I heard my mother scream, so they pulled me out of the barrel. Dolohov noticed that I was pretty. Said that blood traitors were good for one thing. Blood traitors and bastards. I'm a bastard," Ginevra said, with a cocked eyebrow. "My grandfather. Lord of House Prewett. He didn't give my mother permission to marry my father. My father had no name, no lands, no money. He wasn't worthy of a lady of House Prewett. So, it wasn't recognized. So, blood traitors _and_ a bastard. Good for one thing, he said. So, he threw me on the kitchen table and he pried my legs open and he _raped_ me while Travers watched."

Voldemort stared at her for a long moment. Ginevra stared back at him, daring him to pity her. Daring him to apologize. Voldemort would not. Instead, he smiled, and Ginevra seemed to relax even more.

"And your brother stayed in the fireplace?" Voldemort asked.

Ginevra nodded once. "And my brother stayed in the fireplace," she confirmed. She leaned forward, sneering. "I will kill Dolohov and Travers, Lord Voldemort. Just because you don't remember all the deaths you caused, doesn't mean _I_ don't."

Voldemort stared at this bitter mess of a girl. She was only a girl. Just like Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were just boys. Boys with swords. Boys and girls fashioned into soldiers. It reminded him uncomfortably of his father. Voldemort paused. He had not thought of his father in a long time.

"I remember one," Voldemort said. He paused. He wasn't sure why he had said that. "I remember Helena's. Every breath of it."

He could still see those, pale eyes, so loving and generous. They had damned him anyway. He could remember the blood sliding down her neck, to the valley between her budding breasts. She hadn't even been a woman. Still a girl. Just like this one. Just like this _girl._

"Was it worth it?" Ginevra asked.

Voldemort hummed, pushing the memories away.

 _What...is it that you need from me, Tom_?

Her question had haunted him. In his weakness, Voldemort had given her an answer.

"I built an empire on her blood. Of course, it was worth it, Ginevra Weasley."

 _Then it is yours._

 **IS FAIREST**

He couldn't sleep. Harry had never had a hard time sleeping until he had invited the Dark Lord into his bed. Now, sleeping felt like a foreign possibility. Midnight was fast approaching and he would have to wake early the next morn. His mind was exhausted and his body ached. Between Ron and Voldemort's rigorous training, he was drained. Ron had wanted to teach him how to duel on horseback and Voldemort had sparred with him, using both wands and blades, teaching him curses and jinxes.

That had all been before dinner. During dinner, while everyone gathered around the fires outside, Voldemort had lectured him about the histories of the countries that made up the Albion Empire. He had given a brief overview of the Tabooed's conquering of the lands that had belonged to Merlin. The lecture had ended abruptly as he approached the time when the Founders had come.

"Albion," Harry whispered into the darkness. "Albion is glory. I am King...King of the South. The South is Karnaron. Karnaron was Medraut. Karnaron is me. I am King. King of the North. North is Gamalaot. Gamalaot was Ambrose. Gamalaot is me. I am King. King of the East. East is Essetir. Essetir was Orcate. Essetir is me. I am King. King of the West. West is Afallon. West was Morgin. Afallon is me. I _am_ Albion. I am glory."

"You are King."

Harry sat up, abruptly, even as his body screamed in protest. Dark red eyes stared at him with too-complicated emotions. Harry frowned. Voldemort didn't stay late. And he _certainly_ didn't come into Harry's room. Not after the night that they had fucked.

"I am King," Harry agreed, his voice cracking with exhaustion.

He barely noticed as Voldemort tugged off his boots and walked towards the bed. The man kneeled on the edge of the bed and brought his fingers across Harry's cheeks. Harry frowned when he felt his cheeks were wet. He'd been _crying_. Somehow, he didn't feel humiliated by the fact that Voldemort had been watching.

"Your beauty is slightly diminished when you cry," Voldemort murmured. Harry gave a watery laugh as he buried his face in his pillow.

"Only slightly?" Harry retorted.

"You could _never_ be ugly, Harry Potter."

The raw honesty in his voice made Harry jerk back. He stared at him, feeling trapped.

"If I asked you to fuck me, would you?" Harry asked.

Voldemort lifted the blanket and slid in behind Harry. Harry flinched as Voldemort slid his arm around his waist and tugged him back, his back pressed a firm and familiar chest. He looked over his shoulder, prepared to curse at the Dark Lord. He didn't.

"Are you asking me to fuck you?" Voldemort breathed in his ear.

Harry frowned. "Would you?"

"No."

Harry turned in the man's arms, his nostrils flared. "Do you not fuck the same person twice, Lord Voldemort?"

"Tom."

Harry's eyes narrowed in confusion as he heard the unfamiliar name. Voldemort tilted his head as Harry tried to dissect the man, tried to stare into his soul.

"What?" Harry asked.

"My name is Tom Marvolo Slytherin," Voldemort said. "I've been called Voldemort for seventeen years and I've forbidden the name from being spoken. There is a taboo on it. I think everyone but my sisters has...forgotten."

Harry thought about that for a long moment before he turned again, staring at the wall. Voldemort—Tom, now,—pressed his forehead against the nape of Harry's neck and they wallowed in their shared misery for a long moment.

"Tom," Harry finally repeated.

"I will tell you why I won't fuck you again, Harry Potter," Tom said. Harry could feel his lips moving against the back of his neck. He shivered even with how warm he felt. "I will not participate in the perception that you have of yourself."

"You don't know me—" Harry started.

"I know you."

Harry breathed, heavily. He cleared his throat. "What perception do I have of myself?"

"That you aren't worth your name. That you weren't just born lucky, you were lucky to be born. That you aren't worth their respect. That you're a common whore, just like you let them call you," Tom said, his voice, soft and thoughtful but unyielding. "But, you are none of those things. You are Harry Wildfyre of Houses Potter and Gryffindor. You were _born_ for this."

Harry hiccuped and swallowed his cries. He felt like he was shattering. He had never cried so much in his entire life. He felt something burn in him, like he was the cusp of some realized, some actualization that hadn't been breathed aloud just yet.

"Tom…"

"Shh...sleep…" Tom crooned in his ear. Harry sighed, sinking back into the warm, hard body.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Harry slurred.

Tom hummed, hushing him, gently. "You were _born_ for this."

 **OF**

His eyes flashed open.

Feet were pounding up and down the hallway. Harry was up in seconds, jamming his glasses onto his nose. He grabbed his wand, stumbling into the hallway with it raised. Ginny stopped, wide-eyed, her quiver half over her shoulder, swiftly lacing up her battle leathers.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Ginny looked at him, hesitant. "There's...a raid happening."

"Where?" Harry demanded, running back into his room, pulling on his boots and stumbling back out, one knee raised as he tried to lace the boots.

"Little Hangleton. It's right between the tower and Hogsmeade. The Dark Lord has a small castle there. We've heard reports and sightings of the King," Ginny said.

Harry was suddenly far more awake than he had been moments before. King Draco had emerged from Hogwarts Castle. He was _vulnerable_. Harry had only seen Draco during Mortem Phoenix and he'd never paid much attention to him. He needed to be there. He could feel it.

"I need battle robes. And armor. And a sword," Harry said, running into his room again and pulling the Dark Lord's knife from beneath his pillow. He stormed down the steps, Ginny hot on his heels, and she seemed nervous.

"I'm not sure if...are you sure you're ready, Harry?" she asked.

"I'm not _weak_ ," Harry spat as he slammed the front door open.

He was met with a wall of chaos. There was a group of Order members, shouting, gathering steel, pulling horses from the stables. Ron sat upon a great steed, swinging his battle ax through the air. He was barking at the squad. Tonks stood to the side, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Someone get me a horse!" Harry called.

Tonks spun around, her eyes wide. "Harry!"

"You're not going anywhere, boy," Moody barked as he watched the soldiers gather themselves.

Harry felt a flash of rage. He took a step forward, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Moody stared back at him and it was clear neither was backing down.

" _I_ will fight for my people. And _you_ won't stop me," Harry snarled, full of fury. He turned his back on Moody and looked over at Ron. Ron looked lost for a moment.

Tonks took action, spinning around and looking at the assembled soldiers.

"You heard your Prince!" Tonks shouted. "Someone get him a horse. Battle robes. Armor. A sword. And a Portkey!"

The soldiers spun into action and Tonks rushed over, brushing hair from Harry's face. She gave a sad smile, nodding as she cupping his face in her hands. She leaned forward, brushing a kiss against his cheek.

"You follow Ron. Don't try to confront the Usurper yourself," Tonks said. "Don't be reckless."

Harry snorted. "I'm not-"

" _Don't_ lie," Ginny said, shortly interrupting him. Harry looked at her, affronted. "I've known you for only a few weeks and I know how reckless you are. You go off on your own, leaving the camp wards. You gallivant off to make deals with Dark Lords without any advisors. You're reckless. I'll watch him, Tonks. Can't let the one and true king die on us."

Harry snorted. He looked over his shoulder at Moody. The man's sour expression said it all as he muttered to Fendwick and McGonagall. McGonagall looked worried but, not like she'd back Moody's decision to make Harry stay. If there was one person that Harry _would_ listen to, it was McGonagall.

"The Dark Lord...do you think he'll be there?" Harry asked, his voice soft.

Tonks shook her head. "Uncle wouldn't. He's loyal to you. He swore the Vow."

" _Uncle_?" Ginny asked, eyes wide.

"Later, please," Tonks pleaded. She took a step back as McGonagall sent her a look. "Merlin, I think I'm needed. Don't think I'll be riding out with you all."

"We won't need it. This will be rough but, we need someone to defend. Come, Harry. A horse for you," Ginny said, dragging Harry to the saddled horse that Hagrid had brought out from the stables. Ginny reached out, grabbing the borrowed battle robes from one of her brothers.

The horse was beautiful. A stunning white stallion that looked unfit for battle. A horse that looked like it deserved to be free. Still, he walked up to Harry and butted his head against Harry's shoulder. Harry laughed, patting the long head, nuzzling the smooth neck. Hagrid grinned.

"'E likes you then. That's good. You need help getting up on 'im, Harry?" Hagrid asked as Ginny helped him into his battle robes.

Harry shrugged them on, buttoning them swiftly and took the offered sword. He ignored Hagrid's large hand and mounted the horse. Ginny looked up at him in awe. He looked otherworldly, beautiful in his battle robes and armor as he did outside of them.

"Ron! What's the plan?" Harry called as he rode up to Ron's side.

Ron looked doubtful, as if he expected Harry to take over the minute he had demanded to be on the run. Harry looked at him, expectantly, and slowly, Ron straightened, proud. He looked around the group of soldiers, his broad chest puffed out.

"Kingsley and his task force have already gone to Little Hangleton to assess the damage. After doing so, he has sent us a Patronus requesting our presence. Our squad today is a mix of Muggles and wizarding-kind. We have each other's backs. Our goal: reduce property damage as much as we can, and make a dent in the King's personal guard," Ron declared.

The group nodded in agreement, even Emmeline Vance, who didn't look too pleased to be taking orders from someone younger than her.

"And the King?" Marlene McKinnon asked, strangely serious.

Harry perked up. Coldly, he said, "Do not engage the Usurper in battle. Leave him to _me._ "

 **THEM**

The fire was raging and the screams were plentiful.

They tried to run. They always tried to run. He imagined that this was what his uncle felt when he was young and went on raids-powerful and alive. Draco had not felt so alive, so powerful, in such a long while.

Draco felt alive when he was fucking, when there was blood, when he made music, and when magic knocked.

Magic had knocked while he fucked into that poor Muggle whore in his uncle's bed, her breasts splattered in blood and cum. Her cries had been like the sound of a lute or a song, the songs that he enjoyed as a child. The ballads and songs about war and knights and kings. All of his favorite things. He had slit her throat and eaten his dinner, and had called Blaise while his cock was still hanging bare between his legs. Magic had knocked and told him to rage against the dying of the light. So, he _raged,_ ravaging the town that his uncle had such dripping sentiment for.

His uncle would see _him_.

Now, he hunted.

The Order members charged past him, on horseback, chasing his Aurors.

Blaise was snarling, battling fiercely with a broad-shouldered redheaded man, spells volleying back and forth, steel clashing against steel. The battle felt staged, the light from the fire beating down on them, like fairy spotlights, the echoes of swords clanging choreographed. Draco grinned. He _lived_.

"Having fun, yet, your Grace?" Blaise grunted.

Draco laughed, spinning and throwing a knife into the back of a running Muggle. The knife was connected to a long chain, wrapped around his wrist. Draco pulled, ripping the knife out jaggedly. The Muggle crumpled, squirming with adrenaline.

" _Yes!_ " he breathed.

He spun around, when he heard a fearsome battle cry. A woman, with two bright red braids flagging behind him, rode past him, kneeling on the back of her horse. She didn't notice him. He watched as the redhead nocked and arrow and let it fly. It sailed forward, and Draco raised his wand, slowing the arrow down before it touched Blaise. The woman spun on her horse backward, her lips curled into a snarl.

" _AVADA-_ " Draco hissed.

"Not my sister, asshole!"

Draco swung around, pulling his sword just in time to block the downswing of a battle-ax. Draco felt a flash of fear swell in his stomach for just a moment. A voice that sounded like a cross between his mother and uncle's shouted at him. _You are a Slytherin_. _You are Fear._ Draco grinned, maliciously.

He swung up and then it was a fast paced battle, ax coming down on his sword again and again. Draco laughed as the man worked himself into a fury, growing sloppy with his swings. Draco pulled his wand and leveled.

" _Sectumsempra_ ," Draco hissed.

The man cried out as the spell caught him in the arm he held his ax with. The Order soldier crumpled to his knees. His arm fell limp, the leathers ripping to shreds. Magical battle robes, Draco noticed. It wouldn't tear his arm off but, it'd rip it to ribbons. He could already see the blood seeping through. Draco laughed and raised his wand, racking his brain for more curses.

"I believe I'll be your opponent tonight, Draco Malfoy."

The voice was soft, captivating. The flames seemed to move the intonation, the dips and slides in the person's words. Draco slowly turned as the fires parted and he saw the most beautiful person that he'd ever seen in his life.

His skin was so fair that he had to have been crafted out of porcelain. His hair was black, blacker than the night. His lips reminded Draco of war. Of blood. Draco had always loved color of blood. The color red. Red reminded him of power. Of pain and agony and the blood and sweat that it took to wrench power into one's grasp. Draco took a staggering step towards the boy, ready to fall to his knees and worship.

"Your...Highness…" the redhead gasped, clinging to his arm.

Blaise staggered to Draco's side, grabbing him by his shoulder. Draco relaxed against his closest advisor. Neither looked away from this boy. This boy that seemed to breathe as the fires did.

"Who are you?" Blaise whispered, his Gaulish accent thicker than usual.

"I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter. I am the Fairest of them All," the boy said.

Draco's eyes narrowed. The _Pretender._

"Have you come to meet your death, Pretender?" Draco snarled. "Prince of Gryffindor."

The boy smiled. "You may call me your executioner, your Grace."

And with those words, the Pretender snarled and launched himself forward. Blaise made a step forward and Draco prepared to run but, Blaise was suddenly caught up battling a large black man in dark robes with Crabbe and Goyle at his side. Draco spun back around, swallowing his terror. He _wasn't_ a coward.

Steel braced against steel and they were moving. Draco knew how to sword fight. He had been raised under the great swordsman Severus Snape. Severus' style was fluid, like a dancer. He'd always said that Draco possessed a certain grace to him that was natural, like his mother's, like his father's. The Fairest had a sort of grace too but, it didn't fit his lithe body.

The Pretender was brutal, using brute force with every blow, more strength than seemed possible in him. His lips were twisted into a snarl, and he never pulled a blow, ducking and swinging under Draco's slashes and thrusts as if he had been raised with a sword in hand. If Draco was a snake, the Pretender was a lion, his lips pried back to show his teeth.

Draco pulled his wand. " _Reducto_ ," he snarled.

" _Protego!_ "

It was a volleying of spells and curses, the air electric with magic. Draco hissed as everyone one of his curses was dodged, the boy Summoning debris to cover him, swerving under bright jets of purple and orange and red. He was good, too good. His face looked beautiful in the flame light, sweat pouring down his face. Draco wondered what he would look like with blood smeared across his lips. What was redder: blood or the Pretender's lips?

" _Scindo Cor!_ " Draco hissed, shooting off the Heart-Fragmenting Curse.

Instead of throwing up another Shield Charm, the Pretender bent backward, allowing the terrible curse to sail over him, crashing into a running Muggle who shrieked in terror. The Pretender spun around, raising his wand, as if to help but, Draco snarled.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ "

The Pretender spun back around, pretty, pretty green eyes wide. And then, a man dove in front of him, taking the curse in the chest. The Order member crumpled, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The Pretender let out a cry, taking a step back.

"S-Sturgis," the Pretender stuttered.

Draco grimaced, raising his wand again.

"HARRY!" the redhead woman shrieked. She was on her horse backward, taking aim at Draco. "HARRY! FIGHT!"

She let the arrow fly and Draco ducked, letting the iron-tipped arrow fly over his head. He groaned; it had been inches from his eye. When he straightened again, Draco was cowed by the rage on the Pretender's face.

His sword was at his feet, across the dead Order member's chest. The air was sweltering. The flames moved with the Pretender's heavy breathing, dying and rising over and over again. Blaise suddenly screamed and Draco whirled around, watching as his closest advisor dropped his sword and scurried back. His sword hand was blistering and bubbling, his face twisted in agony. All of his men were dropping their iron weapons and Draco dropped his sword too when he felt it grow so hot that he felt like he was trapped in a furnace.

"You killed him," the Pretender breathed.

Draco's hold on his wand tightened and the King watched in terror as the Pretender dragged his fingers through the air, and all the flames flickered, stilling in the air. Even the smoke stopped. Draco watched as the fire seemed to stream into the air, twisting and morphing. This was _Fiendfyre_. No one could control Fiendfyre but, the caster.

The Pretender smiled.

"Füir."

The fire imploded and Draco threw up his wand, casting a Shield Charm. He watched as the flames exploded past him and the Pretender stalked through the flames, the fire clinging to him like a lover. Draco glanced at him. Only charred bones remained of some of his guards. Draco shrieked in rage, and that seemed to bring back the Pretender.

The Pretender looked around, the world engulfed in his fire. He took in the slaughtered men and women, Aurors and Order members and villagers alike. The grass was slick with blood and broken bodies. Draco stepped forward, a charred bone cracking beneath his foot. The Pretender flinched at the sound.

"Have you never killed before?" Draco asked, his voice cold. "Have you never slid a knife through skin and muscle? It's surprisingly easy. Like cutting into butter."

He smiled. The Pretender's eyes narrowed.

"Do you like the fire, Draco Slytherin?" the Pretender asked.

Draco laughed, a wild sound, and he whooped, spinning around. His face was dotted with blood and ash and the smoke in his lungs felt like _living_.

"Why wouldn't I?" he laughed.

"Men like you would want to see the world burned."

Draco raised his wand, pinching his lips together. Still, chuckles bubbled out.

"You're the one that uses fire. You're the one who burned everyone," Draco taunted. "Can't you take it? Don't you _love_ it?"

The Pretender didn't seem to hear him. There was an oddly cold look in his eye. Draco glanced over his shoulder, nodding at Goyle. Goyle crept forward, his sword raised.

"You shall get your wish, Usurper," the Pretender promised. " _I_ will burn your world to ashes. And _then_ , you have my permission to die."

And then, the Pretender turned on his heel and slammed his sword straight into Goyle's chest with all the strength his lithe body could muster. Goyle cried out, his body arching as the blade split his spine, sticking straight out of his back. The Pretender brought his foot up and wrenched his bloody sword out of Goyle's body, covered in spinal fluid and blood. The Pretender spun around, wild, and he let out an otherworldly shriek.

Draco stumbled back, raising his wand.

"FALL BACK! RETREAT!" the Pretender roared. He stooped down before the fallen Order member that had taken a curse for him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Under his lips, the body caught on fire and the Pretender casted one last look at the boy king before he disappeared into the flames, the Order disappearing with him.

 **ALL?**

He was near the fire. He was practically _in_ the fire. The flames licked at his cheeks, kissed the leather robes. They weren't fire-resistant so, every few seconds, the leather battle robes caught on fire and he would hiss at them, and the fire would die, leaving scorch marks in its wake. He was striking, even covered in ash and blood.

Tonks wasn't sure why she had rolled out of bed. She had been commanded to remain, to defend the camp with McGonagall and Fendwick. So, she had done as she was told, and had curled back into bed with Teddy when they hadn't been back for another hour or so. Tonks had been nearly asleep again when she heard the chatter of soldiers returning. She didn't hear anything terrible so, she had tried to sleep but, Magic wasn't silent.

Magic knocked, as her mother always said. And Magic had to be let in.

So, Tonks had risen from the bed, and had brought Teddy to Remus' room. She had tucked him into Remus' side as quietly as possible. She refused to wake either of her boys. The full moon was approaching and Remus was already so tired.

Tonks walked towards the fire and sat down on the bench. Harry sat cross-legged, his back to the flames, casting him into shadow. He didn't seem to notice her at first.

"Harry…"

The boy jumped. He looked at her, wild-eyed.

"I'm fine!" he said, immediately.

Tonks looked into his eyes. Those beautiful green eyes. That had been the first thing that she had noticed about him. They were so full of childish innocence. That was gone now. This was no boy.

The boy was dead.

"No...you're not," Tonks whispered.

Harry laughed.

Her heart cracked wide at the sound. The dead had been collected. She looked around. Their people seemed strong in numbers, though she saw some faces were missing. Sturgis wasn't there, by the armory as he always was. Well, then.

"I really am fine...they told me to go to sleep. That I had done well in battle. _Moody_ said it. He was sounded surprised. But, I can't...I'm not tired, you see," Harry said, his voice soft. "I'm terrified...I feel that something _horrible_ is going to happen."

Tonks reached forward, ignoring the terrible heat on her hand as she touched his shoulder. He was burning up. He was far hotter than any normal person should be. Her hands would blister and burn. But, she could go to Pomfrey for that. Harry's well-being was far more important than her hands. Hands healed. Harry must heal too.

"It's called hyper vigilance. Not the shit that Moody talks about. Just, it's this persistent feeling of being under threat. I feel it too. All the time, actually," Tonks murmured.

Those green eyes stared into her. The young man stared at her like he read all the sins of her soul. Harry had always been strange. A strange wizard. A strange prince. A strange boy. Now, he was a strange man. A sweet, kind, and brave man but, strange, nonetheless. She wouldn't be surprised if he could see her soul. She wanted to hold him, singing to him until he fell asleep, like he was Teddy.

But, she couldn't. Harry was not a child. He was a prince. A prince with blood on his hands.

A warrior king.

"It's like I can't _breathe_ …" Harry whispered, his voice breaking.

"Like you're drowning?"

Harry looked up, his eyes sharp. He was examining her, searching for her sincerity. Tonks ached. His life before must have been hell. She remembered the words that he had spoken to Moody. Slut. Whore. Freak. Monster. People had been jealous. People were still jealous. People still said terrible things about him. And still, he fought for them. A sweet, kind, brave man.

A _good_ man.

"Yeah," Harry muttered.

Tonks nodded, sagely. She remembered being drowned. The woman that had pushed her into the water and then pulled her up, as if birthing her. That woman had not been her mother.

"So...if you're drowning and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment, what if you choose not to open your mouth? To not let the water in?"

Harry snorted.

"I know by experience that you do. It's a reflex."

Tonks decided not to even touch that. _Experience_. Monster. Everyone else was the fucking _monster_. Tonks seethed but, she swallowed her rage.

"But, if you hold off, until that reflex kicks in, you have more time. Correct?" Tonks asked.

Harry shrugged. He slapped at his shoulder. It had caught fire again. "Not much time."

"But, more time to fight your way to the surface?" Tonks insisted, testing him.

Harry looked at her, stiffening. "What are you doing, Tonks?"

Tonks allowed her face to harden.

"Here is your second lesson in _power_ , my dear friend," Tonks said, sharply and Harry stiffened, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Well, it hurts. There's more time, sure. More time to be in agony. In darkness," Harry hissed.

Tonks ached to touch him. She would not. She _wouldn't_ give in.

"You are the Fire. The _Light_ ," she spat, angrily. "You call holy fire. The creatures have a name for you. There is no darkness where you are concerned. And if it's survival, _agony_ is worth it."

Tonks stared past Harry. She thought she saw crimson eyes. But, she couldn't be sure. Voldemort would've comforted Harry himself, if he were here, she expected. She knew that he was Kingmaker. He would've taken this as a formative moment. But, now, it was up to Tonks. Perhaps, it wasn't him. After all, Magic had knocked on _her_ door.

"And if it gets worse, Tonks? Because it _will_ get worse. Just agony now and more hell later on," Harry snarled.

And then, he paused. Tonks allowed her facade to melt away. Her hair was a light brown, curly, like Andromeda's. Her eyes were so dark a blue that they could be violet in some lights. She was truly a Slytherin. It only just occurred to him.

"Then, if you're already suffered, why not suffer more? Here's the lesson: if you're going through _hell_ , keep going."

 _Kill the boy, Harry Potter, and let the man live._

The fire _burned_.

And deep in a hall of marble, in the offered hands of a saint, a stone cracked.

:::

 **A/N:** Well then. Just one more interlude and then we enter ARC TWO. Then, we'll get to the meaty stuff. Anyway, for ARC TWO, I'll be implementing an update schedule. I'll keep to it very strictly, probably. I haven't determined the day yet but, I'll figure it out soon and will let you know by the time I post the Interlude. I'm going back to school soon and that's definitely stress-inducing.

Now, I don't want to beg you for reviews but, I'm begging you for reviews. _PLEASE REVIEW._ It's really encouraging because working so hard on these chapters and updating so fast takes a lot of work. And this isn't my day job. So, please, spare a minute and write something you liked about the chapter. Something meaningful because I love engaging with my audience.

Also, I'm looking to update Piracy soon, lol. And HOPEFULLY, Masquerade, if you read either of those. I will be posting a really long explanation about Masquerade in the next Masquerade chapter too soooo...yeah.

 **NEXT CHAPTER for** _FAIREST_ **should be posted by** _August 11._


	15. Interlude

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Interlude

It was raining.

It never rained in the camp.

Never.

It was the wards. McGonagall, Moody, and Albus Dumbledore-when he had been around, still-had carefully modeled the wards after the wards surrounding Hogwarts. It rained over their gardens but, otherwise, they were in an eternal summer. Winter was coming but, the camp never had to worry about it. Never had to worry about sleet or snow or hail.

Except, it was raining.

It was storming so hard, the rain and the winds battered the tents. The gardens had been reduced to mud, though they had saved as much as they could. The paths were mud and sand, running through the camp. The world was gray.

Tonks thought that the world would've been better iced over than the terrible gray that sucked the happiness from her being. It was like being on Azkaban, surrounded by dementors. Tonks had only been on Azkaban Island once, and that was enough for her. Still, it rained.

They were mourning.

Sturgis Podmore was dead. Others were dead. They had all burned, their ashes mingling in the hollowed out village that had been Little Hangleton.

Still, Tonks was worried. Harry was gone. After their talk, she had pulled him to his room, pulled away his battle robes. He hadn't let her wash the blood or ash from his face. He had gone to bed without another word, and Tonks had promised to see him in the morning. Except, he was gone.

His wand was missing. His cloak and boots. A sword was gone from the armory. She had checked under his pillow. The Dark Lord's knife was gone too. Only a red phoenix feather on his pillow clued Tonks in to the Prince's whereabouts.

She knew she should tell someone. McGonagall would want to know. Moody would _definitely_ want to know. It was why Tonks was so hesitant. She squirmed on the edges of the crowd as McGonagall gave her speech. It was a familiar speech that Tonks could recite in her sleep. McGonagall always hit main points-loss of life as a tragedy, the Fire of the Order grows stronger, the Prince's vengeance. Now, they actually _had_ a Prince to deliver vengeance and he was nowhere to be found.

Tonks felt a large hand fall on her shoulder. She looked up, expecting to see Remus with her sweet Teddy on his hip, but instead, she found dark crimson eyes. She startled, watching her uncle with wary eyes. Tonks didn't know how but, somehow, he knew.

"He's gone."

The words had slipped.

She frowned, unsure of why _he_ was the one that she had confessed to. The Dark Lord had no right to be there, amongst the mourning. There was no love lost between the Order and the Dark Lord. Tonks wasn't sure if he even had the capacity to love or _care_ for anything but, himself.

"He's gone but, he'll be back," Voldemort said, softly.

"I think he's...at the tower," Tonks said through clenched teeth.

Voldemort regarded her, a contemplative look on his face. He turned away from his niece, a woman that looked so much like his sister.

She had Andromeda in her. But, there was so much more of Bellatrix. In her eyes and her soft silky hair. Her hair wasn't near as messy and untamable as Andromeda's. Tonks was hard like all three of his sisters. Unlike his nephew, she was a _true_ snake.

The Dark Lord continued to walk away, his feet sticking in thick mud as he weaved between the tents, his hair flat around his head from the rain. He didn't mind the elements. It grounded him in a world that seemed to float away every moment. The long-lived man walked to the very edge of the camp. He ignored his steed, tied a tree, and secured his sword to his waist before Disapparating with a satisfying crack.

The Dark Lord appeared again. This was the third time he had come by the tower. All good things came in threes. The Dark Lord knew he would not come again.

The air tasted like fire and grief, an odd sorrowful taste that threatening to choke him like smoke. He walked through the brambled trees, staring at the open doors of the mausoleum. The Dark Lord paused before the door, taking in the great crumbling structure, his lips pursed.

He could still feel the magic of his father and Rowena, clinging like an old stench, bound to the structure until the end of their days. Helga's and Godric's magic were long gone. They were long dead. Voldemort could remember that day in flashes.

"He's here," the Dark Lord murmured to himself.

He could feel more wards. The wards that Dumbledore and Moody and McGonagall had constructed. But, they were nothing now, nearly torn apart by sheer audacious will. That must be the Prince then. The magic that had ripped them apart was heady and smoke-inducing. Yes, the Prince was there, indeed.

Voldemort walked forward, stepping into the shadow of the decrepit tower that had been Lily's prison for so many years. He wondered if they had cleaned up the mess he had created when he had hunted Lily down and cut her chest open. Did they find her when she still looked like herself or when she had become nothing but bones?

He descended deep into the mausoleum, passing through the marble doors. The walls were lit this time, and Voldemort looked around. The walls were carved lions and phoenixes chasing one another. Ash was smeared across pictures of lions, touching the flames carved into the white marble, as if to mark them for what they wear.

Voldemort traced his fingers over the light smudge marks, in the shape of hands that he had touched, that he had felt on his body. When he hit the bottom, he stared straight ahead.

Lily's statue stared at him with green eyes of judgment. The oil troughs were lit with pulsing flames, flames that followed a heartbeat that Voldemort had urged to sleep. She still held the stone, cradled in her hand. Her wrist was trapped in an ash-smudged hand. Harry's hand.

Harry kneeled at the statue's feet like she was an altar to pray at.

"She was a beautiful woman. You have her eyes," Voldemort said. Harry spun around, still on the dirt ground. His tunic and trousers looked ill-fitting for the chill, his only reprieve a thin cloak. His face was smudged with ash, his cheeks dotted with blood. "And her smile. She hated it in this tower. She hated what it stood for and when I came for her, she welcomed death."

Harry turned and brushed his fingers across the bare feet. That was close to Voldemort's memory. He couldn't remember a time when Lily had voluntarily worn shoes while she ran amuck Hogwarts Castle.

"Now, I find my assumptions untrue," Voldemort continued.

Harry hummed, looking up with bright green eyes. They were too bright. Fever bright. He hadn't slept. There was something else missing. A spot of innocence, that he had retained even after Voldemort thought he had fucked all the innocence out of him.

"What then, Tom?" he asked, voice cold and brittle. So unlike the fire that breathed with him, growing higher with every passing moment, towering over the two of them.

Voldemort stared at the statue of her. He could still almost smell her. Smoke, but never ash. Never of destruction. She had always smelled like energy...life. He moved forward until he was only a foot away from Harry, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

"She was protecting you. The sooner that she died, the sooner I would leave, thinking that my task was complete," Voldemort murmured, softly.

Harry slowly stood, trembling with fury. Voldemort tilted his head. This was wholly Harry. Voldemort couldn't remember what Lily had looked like when he had killed her. He could never remember the details of his kills. Not even the most important ones. Not like Helena.

Never like Helena.

Voldemort thought that if he decided to kill Harry, he'd remember every moment, seared to his brain, his spinal core, his marrow. And then, he would die as well.

Neither man spoke nor moved. They simply stared into each other's eyes, attempting to read each other. Another beat pass and then Harry broke.

"You...you caused all of this. _You_ did this," Harry whispered, brokenly, and then suddenly, he snapped.

He shoved at Voldemort's chest, violently, finally losing control, just as Voldemort knew he would. Voldemort stumbled back from the force. He blinked, owlishly at Harry and said nothing. Harry didn't seem to notice. He only punched the man's broad chest in a fire-filled rage, ignoring how his knuckles ached every time he made contact with the hard muscle.

"You... _you_...you did this to me! You killed my mother! Made me live with the Dursleys, in that _horrible_ village! It was my fault. I killed someone...I _killed_ someone!" Harry shouted, his voice breaking and when Voldemort tried to reach for him, the flames exploded.

 _Kill the boy, Harry Potter, and let the man live._

Voldemort threw himself back, throwing up a Shield Charm in an instant. He watched as the fire whirled violently around the small space, and even through the flames, he could see the statue of Lily and her judgmental green jewel eyes. And then, he heard a shrieking. It was Harry and Voldemort's eyes widened as the shrieking grew in number.

The flames parted and Harry stood before the statue of his mother, his hand pressed against the stone that sat in the statue's hand. There was a large crack that ran down the center, and Voldemort knew then that the stone that Pandora had given her daughter for him was no stone.

He remembered the stories.

The Founders had slain them all when they discovered the damage Morgin had wrought across Afallon with them. Eggs had been crushed, scales stripped away to create clothing. Claws used for potions. Teeth used for battle. Calcified hearts used for wand cores. Bones used for anything else.

Harry was hypnotized and the stone egg cracked and rippled beneath his hand and the flames lifted his shirt, kissing ash and fire to his clothes, burning away the cloak. Voldemort's lips parted and he watched as the egg opened and a tiny reptilian head reared out, shrieking its tiny sound, soft horns adorning its head like a crown.

A _dragon_.

"What are you?" Harry whispered as he broke the egg open, having forgotten all about Voldemort. He held his hands in offering and the small dragonet, large enough that Harry had to cradle it with two hands and still, it nearly slithered off of him.

"You...your fire brought life to a petrified dragon egg," Voldemort breathed.

Harry spun around, eyes wide with terror. "I didn't mean to. I didn't...it wasn't here before," Harry rasped, casting glances down on the dragonet as it slithered up his arm, shrieking and cooing in his ear.

"I _know_ ," Voldemort hissed, irritated. The dragonet turned its head sharply, letting out a shriek of irritation. Voldemort hummed. "Come here. Slowly."

Harry took a step forward, fire clinging to him like it had nowhere else to go. Voldemort took a step forward, ignoring the hissing, spitting dragonet perched on Harry's shoulder. Slowly, he reached forward, taking Harry's face between his hands, tilting it up. He rubbed his thumb across one ash covered cheek, scraping at a spot of dry blood with his fingernail.

"What have you done to me? What am I going to become?" Harry whispered.

Voldemort could taste his terror. This was not a boy anymore. This was a man. A man that had taken lives. A man that had tasted battle and was afraid to love it. A man that had raised a creature from extinction. A man that could be very terrifying indeed.

"I've done nothing that you haven't asked of me. But...my King, one question rings louder than the others. What would you _like_ to become, creature of fire?"

Harry was staring at him with strangely tearless eyes as if the fire had burned it all away. His clothing was scorched, large bits of it totally burned away, revealing pale, unblemished skin that Voldemort wanted to ruin. He turned his face to look at the dragonet, rubbing its face against his neck.

"Unafraid," Harry answered, immediately.

Voldemort's lips twitched into a smile. "Why are you afraid?"

"I know what you meant about power," Harry said but, he didn't elaborate. "They died. For me. Because of me. And I relished in watching them _burn._ "

The dragonet shrieked at the word as if it recognized the flames.

"You aren't wrong."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"You must learn that the entire world is your enemy and they _will_ kill you. Unless you kill them _first_. Unless you take from them first. After all, what has been taken cannot be returned," Voldemort said, breathing laughter at the absurdity of it all.

This beacon of power, the source of life, had birthed a creator of fire from his flames. This was the side that he had aligned himself within the damned war.

"Then...what shall I do?" Harry whispered.

Voldemort's crimson eyes widened in delight and he grabbed Harry by his waist, jerking them close until their lips were only breaths apart. They stared at each other, breathing the others air, fire beating down on them, sweat beading on Voldemort's forehead. The dragonet shrieked again in their ears, cooing.

And Voldemort saw then, the future of the Vow he had made. A Kingmaker and his King. Survival of the empire. The endurance of the reign. _Forever._

"My sweet prince...you shall give this _wretched_ world the _King_ it deserves."

[END OF PART ONE]

:::

 **A/N:** Well, here is the promised end of PART ONE. I will probably post the next epigraph as warning that PART TWO is coming. I am going back to school soon, within a week. So, I can't promise to start posting PART TWO before I'm fully moved in but, I can promise that when I settle at school, I'll establish a regular update schedule. It'll probably be every Thursday, depending on how my job and clubs work out. But, yeah. Look out for that!

Thanks so much for reading! I really enjoy comments, especially with the massive gamechanger that just happened. Anyway, this is where I veer away from a lot of the Game of Thrones stuff I originally got a lot of inspiration from and the fairytales come into play. Next ARC we'll be meeting the Crouches, the Longbottoms, a Greengrass or two, and the beginnings of war will really happen as I consider the last battle I wrote as the real beginning of the war where the two figureheads clashes.

Well, see you next time. Please review! Lemme know what you think!


	16. Epigraph II

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : Well, here we are again. It's starting up. I'm in the process of editing the next chapter and I have the chapter after half-written. I plan to update this fic every Wednesday or Thursday. It works best with my schedule, I think. When I have a definitive day, I'll let you know. Next real chapter will be up in a few hours.

 **Fairest**

Epigraph II

 _"All the world will be your enemy,_

 _Prince of a Thousand enemies._

 _And when they catch you,_

 _They will kill you._

 _But first they must catch you;_

 _Digger, listener, runner,_

 _Prince with the swift warning._

 _Be cunning, and full of tricks,_

 _And your people will never be destroyed."_

- **Richard Adams, Watership Down**


	17. Chapter Thirteen

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Thirteen

He moved with purpose now.

That was new.

Every step was careful and measured. Every breath geared towards his survival. He was a man of war now.

"What...is that on his shoulder?" Ron whispered, leaning forward.

Harry's eyes burned with something violent and he was hissing, softly at the scaled beast that sat coiled on his shoulder. The Dark Lord stood at his side, his expression still, leading his horse behind them. Harry seemed to be staring far away. Tonks couldn't look away from the beast lounging over his shoulder.

A _dragon_.

"Boy, where did you disappear off to? Still a child that you can't wait for a simple debrief before you go off to sulk for a night and half a day," Moody snarled with derision.

Tonks watched as the older wizard faltered after he heard the dragonet shriek, its little wings stretching, slim neck darting out with aggression. Harry cooed softly at the monstrous creature and immediately, it settled, sliding over his shoulder, its long tail thrown around Harry's neck. Tonks shivered as those poisonous yellow eyes settled on her. She glanced to the Dark Lord. His crimson eyes glinted with amusement.

"Kill the boy, Harry Potter, and let the man live," Harry murmured to himself. He mouthed the words, tasting them on his tongue. They echoed, prophetic in some way that Tonks couldn't quite comprehend.

It felt like a prayer, something holy. But, also, so very damning. Harry looked to the Dark Lord once. The Dark Lord looked back at him and nodded. Tonks rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet, electric with nervous energy.

Something was happening.

The winds were different and, it no longer rained. No, instead the sun seemed to burn brighter than ever before. The mud from the morning had hardened, baked into brick by the heat of the day. Harry spun to face everyone and he drew his wand, a small smile spreading across his face.

"I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions and Protector of the Realm," he declared. Tonks shivered at the fire in his voice. "And you will _all_ bend the knee."

There was a long beat of silence. They stared. There wasn't anything else they could do but stare. Harry watched each and every one of them with fire in his eyes. The dragonet on his shoulder shrieked as if in agreement with its master. Tonks looked around, wondering who would go first. Everyone was too frozen in shock. Tonks took a step forward and before she could sink to her knee, Voldemort swept his wand in front of his chest and fell to one knee.

Harry's lips parted and he nodded.

Tonks hid her smirk behind her hand as she followed her uncle's lead. The two Slytherins, the first to bow to the Prince of Gryffindor. The irony was not lost on her.

Tonks looked up and watched as the civilians fell to their knees, laying prostrate before Harry's prone form. The dragonet shrieked upon his shoulder again and Tonks looked back at Remus. Remus was staring, wide-eyed, Teddy clutched tight to his chest. She caught his gaze and nodded. Remus slowly sunk to one knee, tucking Teddy closer to his side.

It was like a sudden wave. The Weasleys drew their wands in salute, bowing. Even Marlene McKinnon, Emmeline Vance, and Kingsley bent the knee before their King. Tonks felt giddy, pride rushing through her belly, thrumming in her veins. Even Cardaroc, a mess of creaky old bones, stooped as low as he could in his old age.

It was only Moody, Fendwick, and McGonagall standing.

"You want me to bow to you, boy?" Moody hissed, dangerously.

Harry's lips quirked into a smile. "I am your King. You will bend the knee as the rest have done before you. Bend the knee, Alastor Moody."

Moody's gnarled face curled into a sneer. Tonks grit her teeth and looked down to the dirt ground. Fendwick stooped down, falling to a knee. McGonagall swept into a low curtsey, her skirts billowing out around her as she crossed her wand and saluted. Harry smiled, benevolent and oh so beautiful.

Tonks' breath froze in her lungs. She waited. Everyone waited, with baited breath.

And slowly, Moody sunk to his knees.

 **MIRROR**

Hermione walked, her hands clasped before her, eyes trained on the ground. She looked up with darting brown eyes, carefully keeping her gaze on Narcissa's back as the woman walked, side by side with her sister. Andromeda was striking in chainmail, hard, where her sister looked soft in dark navy velvets and silks. But, Hermione knew better. She knew that _both_ sisters were formidable.

"How far, Lord Dolohov?" Narcissa murmured to man on her left.

"They should be arriving soon, my Lady," Dolohov insisted, his voice soft as they moved forward, their eyes trained on the gates to the Forbidden Forest.

"How could this happen? The Order...how could they have known that Draco was there?" Narcissa whispered to the air. Andromeda shifted, her chain mail clinking but, she didn't offer an answer.

Hermione had one—Draco was vain and a show-off. It would not be uncharacteristic for him to issue something that the Order would consider a challenge.

Hermione could hear the sounds of hooves hitting the ground. A thundering of them. Slowly, she straightened, rolling her shoulders back and cracking her neck. Her wand felt uncomfortable up her sleeve, and her eyes narrowed as she slowly let the tip peek out. A hand clamped on her wrist and Hermione adjusted herself, sliding her wand up her sleeve again. She looked down at Luna.

"My Lady," Luna said, softly, her eyes trained on the gates as they creaked open.

Hermione hummed and watched with wide eyes as they rode forward.

Narcissa let out a gasp. "Draco," she rasped in horror.

The King of Albion was covered in ash, his hair colored gray and his cheeks black. He looked haggard as if he had ridden after the battle and hadn't stopped. Her stepbrother didn't look in much better shape, his arm wrapped in a blood sling. The rest of the Aurors were in disarray, broken and burnt and covered in ashes. Far more had ridden out. Too few had returned.

Draco slipped from his horse and walked slowly towards the castle, his eyes narrowed in pain. Narcissa rushed to him, paying no mind to the blood crusted under Draco's nose or the bruises on his pointy chin. She kissed him on both cheeks, roughly, before pulling him tight to her. His hands dangled at his side.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. "Nephew, what has happened? How many men have you lost?" she asked.

"Too many," Draco said, his voice rough from smoke inhalation. "Little Hangleton is in ashes. Muggle Aurors lost. Wizarding Aurors lost. Gregory Goyle is dead."

Hermione frowned, looking between her stepbrother and her betrothed. They looked defeated, quivering with exhaustion. She was used to seeing them wreak havoc, terrorizing the people that came before them.

"Where is his body, your Grace? We must give it to his father," Lord Dolohov said, softly.

"Don't you think I know that," Draco snarled, pulling away from his mother, his teeth bared. Even his mouth was crusted with dried blood. Dolohov nodded, attempting to keep the peace. "It is in the last wagon. Many wizarding bodies are, though some were reduced to ash. I know the burial rites. Greg is...he's nearly in two pieces."

Hermione's eyes widened. He was grieving. Draco Malfoy was _grieving_.

"Someone severed him in half? How?" Andromeda barked. "How did this happen?"

Draco blinked at his aunt as if seeing her for the first time. "He was so beautiful, Aunt. The most beautiful person I'd ever seen. And he called fire as easy as he breathed air. I didn't...it was...Mother, I'm tired," he said, his voice cracking and Narcissa looked up at him, wounded, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.

"I know, my love. I know," Narcissa whispered. "Lord Dolohov, if you'd please handle the Aurors while I see the King to his chambers. He has fought a long battle and lost many men. Andromeda, take the girl with you. Show her how we mourn the dead. When she is queen, she will need to know."

Andromeda hadn't taken her curiously dark gaze from the King's face. "What did he call himself, Draco?" she asked, foregoing any sort of propriety.

"Dromeda," Narcissa hissed, warningly.

"No, we must know," Andromeda snarled. "The King took some of the best men and they return beaten and bloodied, with the heir of a _House_ dead. We must know."

"You mustn't know anything. You aren't part of the Council," Narcissa snapped as she ushered Draco to Hogwarts Castle.

Luna and Hermione dutifully fell into low curtseys as the King and his mother passed them but, Draco barely paid Hermione any mind.

"I am the Warden of the West. I want to know if I have to worry about my _people_ ," Andromeda retorted angrily. "I know Little Hangleton is in the North but, I must know."

Narcissa spun around, ready to spit harsher words but, Draco turned, his gaze trained steadily on Andromeda. Hermione had never seen him grim. She had seen him smug and angry and disgusted but, never grim. He looked nearly like a man and that frightened Hermione more than anything. A boy-king she could learn to manipulate, to control, as his mother did. A man was a dangerous opponent to a woman, indeed.

Quietly, the King said, "He called him Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter. He called himself the Fairest of Them All."

Hermione froze.

The _Fairest_.

She watched the King walk inside, accompanied by his mother. Andromeda cleared her throat and grabbed Hermione by her arm, whipping her around.

"Come, girl. There is work to be done," Andromeda commanded.

Hermione jerked out of Andromeda's grasp but pulled her cloak tighter around herself and moved forward. It wasn't exactly cold though she could hear the wind whistling against the wards. She could see the gray skies beyond their bubble of summer.

Winter was coming.

"What kind of work?" Hermione asked.

"I will show you how we bury our dead here," Andromeda said, her voice cold. She walked up to the wagon and looked farther out. Another wagon. She looked at the Aurors and cleared her throat. "You are dismissed. Lord Dolohov, you should see your men into barracks. They deserve their rest."

Lord Dolohov looked at her, sourly. "As you wish, Lady Warden," he drawled, and he ushered his men away, leaving the two women to inspect the wagons of the dead.

Hermione gagged at the smell of burnt flesh and she looked at the bubbling flesh, the bodies that looked nearly petrified. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to be able to tell each face from another when they were all stretched into shades of agony.

"How could this be done?" Hermione whispered.

Andromeda looked at the bodies, stoically. She pulled out her wand and waved it over the bodies, murmuring softly. "It wasn't Fiendfyre. That leaves traces of Dark magic. This was something else. Light."

"How could this be Light magic? Bodies were turned into ash," Hermione said, earnestly. "They set these men on fire. They _burned_ them. Executed them."

"And so goes war, Lady Granger," Andromeda said. She looked at the bodies, stopping when came across one man in particular, his middle caked with long dried blood. His black curls looked limp and dry yet stuck to his forehead with sweat. He was stiff.

"Gregory Goyle?" Hermione whispered.

"Yes. War makes monsters of us all," Andromeda said, her voice soft.

Hermione looked at the woman, wide-eyed. "Do you...has the Dark Lord spoken to you about his plan? What will he do about Draco?" she whispered.

Andromeda laughed. "Why do you ask me? If he hasn't told you, you aren't meant to know."

"He gave me back his wand. He said that he would not have Draco on the throne," Hermione snapped, irritated.

"Tell me, Lady Granger, what do you want out of this war?" Andromeda asked.

"I want to go home," she said, immediately. "I want to live."

"Then, Lady Granger, you mustn't shy from war," Andromeda said, softly. "Embrace it."

 **MIRROR**

They stumbled into his room, breathing hard and wild like they had run a race. Voldemort drifted after the pair, rolling his eyes at their antics.

"I can't believe I just did that," Harry breathed, his eyes wild, cradling the unnamed dragonet in his hands. Tonks leaned back against the door, grinning madly.

"I can't _believe_ you just did that!" she hissed.

There was a long beat of silence before they both shrieked, shouting over each other, jumping up and down. The Dark Lord between the two with a raised eyebrow and triumph gleaming in his crimson eyes. The dragonet shrieked between them and Tonks immediately fell back, Harry turned his green eyes to the creature.

"A dragon, Harry. You come back with a dragon and demand that they all bend the knee," Tonks said, shaking her head in awe. Harry slowly crossed to his bed, sitting on the edge, the dragonet slipping from his shoulder and tumbling into his lap. "How did this even happen? Where did you even _find_ a dragon egg?"

"That would be my doing," Voldemort drawled, crossing towards Harry. He kneeled, keeping his eyes trained on the creature, though he wasn't unaware of the slight flush that spread high across Harry's cheeks.

The Dark Lord examined the dragonet. It was lizard-like, with poisonous yellows eyes, as bright as his Nagini's. Its eyes were shaped like a cat and bronze nubs protrude from its head and smaller nubs, going down its back and tail. They would one day be spikes but they were no better than bumps at the moment.

"What kind of dragon is it?" Tonks whispered.

"A Horntail," Voldemort said, decidedly. Cement-colored eggs, hard as stone. Definitely a Horntail. "And a girl at that."

"What will you name her?" Tonks asked, excitedly.

Harry had not taken his eyes off the softly screeching dragonet, stroking her softly. The dragonet looked up at him and made a quiet purring noise of content. Harry's lips spread into a wide smile.

"Her name is Freia."

Voldemort nodded. "It is said that Horntails were the most vicious and aggressive breeds of dragon. You will have to tame her now. She is already taken by you. She will grow large and fast," Voldemort warned as he watched the young man. Harry's entire attention remained on the dragonet, Freia, that shrieked and squealed in his lap, hungry for all of the Prince's attention. "If you're done playing with the fire-breathing beast, there's work to be done."

Both Tonks and Harry looked up, irritated.

"She's not a beast," Harry snapped.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "There's a reason the Founders destroyed them all and sent them into extinction."

"Well, you won't touch her," Harry hissed, threateningly and Voldemort raised his hands, surrendering with another dramatic roll of his eyes. "Freia is mine."

"How did 'Freia' come into your possession again?" Tonks asked in wonder.

"A girl… there's a servant girl at Hogwarts. I greatly respected her mother and she asked me to honor her mother by putting the stone in the mausoleum. It was only a stone then. It wasn't hot. I had no idea that it could be a petrified dragon egg. And yet…" Voldemort trailed off, turning away, his eyes narrowed.

He should've known. Pandora had been closely affiliated with fire. And the Luna girl always knew things that she shouldn't. She was a crafty witch, so very much like her mother.

"She knew," Harry said with such certainty that the two Slytherins looked to him. His green eyes had not left Freia and he smiled as she gnawed at his finger.

"No more frivolous conversation about the dangerous beast that has imprinted on you," Voldemort snapped. Harry glared at the Dark Lord but waited for him to finish. So, he recognized that Voldemort's words were true. "There is work to be done."

"Oh, am I included in this work now?" Tonks retorted.

"You're as much of a threat to Moody and his faction as much as I am," Voldemort spat.

Tonks reared back. "I'm an _Order member_ —"

"You're a Slytherin," Voldemort snarled. Tonks fell silent, eyes wide. Harry reached for hand, squeezing, though he didn't look away from the Dark Lord, waiting patiently for him to finish. "They don't trust you. They know you're powerful. I can tell that much. But, they don't _trust_ you. You encourage the Prince to be outspoken. You were the first to bend the knee, for Merlin's sake. _You_ are a _threat_. And so, you _must_ work with us."

Harry turned to look at Tonks, his eyes eager. "Please, Tonks. I couldn't do this without you. You'll be my advisor. You must," Harry insisted.

Tonks bit her lower lip, nervously.

"Harry," she began, "you want me to go up against the Madame? She practically saved me. You want me to betray her?"

"I'm your King," Harry said, softly. "You bent the knee to me. You believe in me, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Tonks said, immediately. "I imagine a lot of them believe in you. Especially after last night."

Harry nodded then. "Then, you will work with us, right? You'll be loyal to me and me alone, right?"

Tonks swallowed. She looked into her Uncle's crimson eyes but, Voldemort stared at her, with all the expectation in the world. She looked back into Harry's eyes and swallowed any doubt.

"Yes. Loyal to you and you alone."

"Good," Voldemort said. "Then, we plan."

 **ON**

He strode from the stables fast, barely putting his stallion up. He could sense the buildup of magic. Something was happening. Something had happened without his presence. Voldemort

"Andromeda—" Voldemort began.

Andromeda jerked away from her brother, giving him a warning look.

"You've been gone too long, brother. The Houses are here. Surely you saw their carriages," Andromeda said. Voldemort shook his head, looking around the court, only slightly alarmed.

Everyone wore their best, primped and groomed to the utmost. Narcissa, Draco, and his betrothed hadn't arrived just yet. That was all well and good. Voldemort didn't want Narcissa dissecting his conversations with their sister.

"I came from Karnaron. They must have arrived by way of the East. Who has she summoned?" Voldemort asked. He looked at the group. Lord Goyle leaned against the wall, draped in black, his own wife sobbing softly into black linen. "Is Heir Goyle dead?"

"Yes. You may thank your Fairest for that," Andromeda said, her voice low and cold.

Voldemort hummed. "You didn't answer my other question."

"The great Houses Crouch, Parkinson...and Longbottom," Andromeda said.

Voldemort let the name sit between them as the doors swung open and Narcissa emerged, bathed in navy. The court bowed to her and she smiled, their adoration giving them strength. She approached Voldemort and leaned in, brushing her lips against his cheek. Voldemort returned the gesture though his stomach turned with fury.

He took a step back and watched as Draco emerged and everyone fell before him murmuring 'your Grace, your Grace'. Voldemort watched him carefully. The boy-king had a grimness to his eyes that he hadn't possessed before. His first battle had been just as unkind to him as it had been to Harry.

The Lady Granger trailed behind him in robes of silver. She was still thin as a dementor but, she no longer had bruises on her jaw or her neck. She walked with a newfound confidence. Having her wand on hand had done her some good then. A quivering little girl would not be helpful in his future plans. Pandora's girl, Luna, followed after her, her gaze wandering to Rodolphus.

Voldemort looked away. He would allow Rodolphus his privacy in that particular matter.

Hermione caught Voldemort's gaze and nodded to him. He nodded back at her and Hermione turned away, settling at the bottom of the dais, waiting patiently and separate for the Houses to arrive. She lifted her chin, no longer afraid in the face of the court. She had her wand. She could protect herself in anyone dared lay a finger on her again.

She saw Blaise who stared at her with a smirk. His smirk faltered when she didn't flinch, and her own lips twitched into a cool smile.

She looked discreetly at the Lord Voldemort again. He was whispering quietly to his sister but, Andromeda only had eyes for the House that entered first.

"Presenting Lord Webber of House Parkinson, and his lovely daughter, the Lady Pansy of Parkinson."

Hermione watched as an older man and a young woman in bronze robes paraded through the doors. The older man was unassuming in the way all old men were unassuming. He was wise-looking but, ultimately, bathed in wealth and simmered in false power. Hermione looked at Pansy. She wasn't a pretty woman but, she was attractive. Her nose was upturned, dark hair waved around her face, and she was smug-looking.

"Your Grace," Pansy said, falling practically to her knees as they reached the dais. "It's been so long, my dear, dear friend."

Hermione stiffened, as she looked at Draco. Draco's lips were pulled into a tight smile.

"Lady Pansy, my childhood friend, it was quite a shock to me, that your family didn't swear immediate fealty to me," Draco said in greeting.

Lord Webber flushed and cleared his throat. "Your Grace, we believed it best if we swore loyalty, to you, the great King-Emperor Draco, in person. We only want to continue our family's long-term friendship."

Draco watched him for a long while. Narcissa bent over to whisper into Draco's ear. Draco nodded and waved her away, impatiently. Hermione had never seen him dismiss his mother so suddenly. Narcissa pulled back, her gaze cold.

"Thank you, my Lord, my Lady. Welcome to court," Draco drawled.

Pansy stood, lifting her chin and she swept past Hermione, trodding heavily on her toes. Hermione swallowed her yelp of pain and frowned at Pansy. Pansy's eyes narrowed on her, full of warning before she joined the court, immediately swept into a group of young women that hugged her and pressed kisses to her cheeks. Hermine flushed in humiliation.

"Presenting Lord Bartemius of House Crouch."

A tall man with short gray hair emerged in pressed black robes. His hair was neatly parted, almost unnaturally straight with a narrow toothbrush mustache above his thin lips. In the strange lighting of the Great Hall, he took on a skull-like appearance. Hermione felt dread crawl up her spine.

"Your Grace," Lord Crouch said, curtly.

"You have not sworn fealty either, my Lord," Draco drawled. "Your son is here and hasn't sworn fealty."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, searching for the man that would be Lord Crouch's son. Her eyes widened when a man in black leather battle robes stepped forward. The robes were open, revealing a tunic that wasn't laced up to his neck and thighs squeezed into tight leather trousers. He was a pale man with straw-colored hair and freckles, and he was so terribly handsome it made her ache.

"Your Grace, you know as well as I that may not swear fealty to any man but, the Dark Lord," the son of Crouch said.

"Barty," Lord Crouch barked.

"Your son is correct, my Lord. I apologize, your Grace, but Barty Crouch belongs to me through the bonds of blood and ink. You understand, don't you?" Voldemort said, his voice terribly chilly. He practically dared Draco to speak against him in public.

Draco regarded his uncle for a long time before he turned to Lord Crouch. "Do _you_ , Lord Crouch, swear fealty to me?"

"Of course, your Grace," Lord Crouch said curtly.

Barty continued to stare at Draco, his eyes narrowed. Hermione swallowed hard, missing the King's next words, as she looked into Barty's eyes. He stared at her as if he wasn't sure what to make of her, suspicious or otherwise. He melted back into the court, disappearing from her view and Hermione took a deep breath, focusing on what was to come.

"Presenting Lord Neville of House Longbottom and his sister-ward, Lady Daphne Greengrass."

Narcissa bent her head, whispering into Draco's ear. Hermione watched as Draco straightened, scooting forward to sit on the edge of his seat. Hermione swallowed as she watched the pair walk into the Great Hall, and court broke into a million whispers.

The first thing Hermione noticed was that they were both tall and towheaded. Second, she noticed how young they were, nearly her age. Neville was nervous looking in yellow and navy. Daphne Greengrass looked perfectly at ease, her strange eyes taking in all of the Great Hall.

"Lord Neville Longbottom, you came quickly to our request. How kind," Draco drawled, his voice terribly cruel. He leaned forward. "Where is your lady grandmother?"

"My King," Daphne began, her voice soft but carrying through the Great Hall. It sounded like music. "Our lady grandmother is an old woman. She is quite tired from the journey. Please excuse her."

"The King did not address-" Narcissa began sharply.

"Mother," Draco said, shortly, silencing her. He leaned forward, watching the two with shrewder eyes than Hermione believed he had. "Lady Daphne has never been to court. She's been in Arcadia since she became the late Lord Longbottom's ward."

"Yes, I do apologize, your Grace. You are very kind and fair," Daphne said sweetly.

Neville lifted his chin and nodded. "Your Grace, we come here to swear fealty to you."

"Your family has sworn fealty before and has broken it. How fair your mother and father?" Draco asked, sharply. Hermione knew it to be a cruel question. Both Daphne and Neville flinched at his words.

"Your Grace, I am not my parents," Neville said, coolly. "We swear fealty to the true King-Emperor of Albion. We would not be here if we didn't."

"I suppose," Draco said and his lips curled into a cold smile. "You may go back to your tents. We shall summon you when you earn your place at court."

"Thank you, your Grace," Neville said and he offered his arm to Daphne. She took it gently and they walked away, with all the dignity and grace that Draco had ripped away from them.

Hermione swallowed. She knew. This was only the beginning.

 **THE WALL**

"Harry," Tonks said, rushing into his room, Teddy cradled against her side.

Harry looked up from his books, his green eyes round and glassy behind his glasses. Freia reared her head and let out a trilling shriek, startled. Teddy let out a tiny cry, surprised but, he didn't burst into tears as Tonks had feared. Tonks settled on the bed, holding Teddy close to her chest as Freia lumbered forward, butting her head against Teddy's side. Teddy giggled, reaching small fat fingers towards the dragonet.

Harry yanked Freia back. "Not safe yet. Freia doesn't understand children," he said, apologetically.

Tonks nodded, her eyes frantic. "Doesn't matter. Not why I'm here."

"Then, why are you here?" Harry asked, carefully shutting his books. He pulled out his wand, pointing it at the door. " _Muffliato_. _Repello Hominem._ "

"Where did you learn those?" Tonks asked, mildly impressed.

Harry laughed. "Your Uncle teaches me. He knows many things."

"Many things," Tonks drawled with a smirk. Harry flushed and elbowed her in the side, jostling Freia. Freia shrieked again.

"Shut up, Freia. I barely moved you," Harry laughed. He picked up the dragonet and set her on the ground. Freia was only a week old and she was at least ten times the size she had been when she was born. He had been feeding her raw meat what felt like constantly, and she was never satisfied. She really was like a child. "Your Uncle hasn't been in my bed since the first night."

"Oh, I know that's not true," Tonks drawled. "It's okay if you sleep with him, Harry. I won't tell."

"I would never, Tonks," Harry said, though he wasn't sure if he was lying or not. "He killed your father."

"And he's loyal to you. He swore his life, Harry. _Voldemort_ , who is intent on staying alive _forever_ , swore his life to you. You're attracted to him, I know," Tonks began.

"Who isn't? He's a beautiful man," Harry said with pursed lips, looking away and Tonks laughed.

"I'm not. He's my Uncle," Tonks said.

Harry snorted. "Well, yes. I just...I can't, Tonks. I did it once. For my people. And it's no longer required of me. It's finished."

Tonks looked at him for a long time, as if she could see through him and his words. Harry looked away, looking down at Freia as she explored his room, her tail lazing behind her as she crawled forward. Teddy crawled to the edge of the bed, reaching fat baby hands towards the dragon. Harry grabbed Teddy and set him in the middle of the bed again.

"I'm not here to discuss Uncle, for once," Tonks said, rolling her eyes. "I overheard something."

"Gossip?" Harry asked, flatly.

Tonks hummed. "No. Plotting. Against you. Moody is trying to form your council for you."

"My Council?" Harry asked, softly.

"Yes. Every King or Queen has a council. Draco's Council consists of the Lady of the Coin, his mother, the Commander of the Archers, the commander of the Calvary, the Lord of Whispers, the General of the Aurors, and the Chancellor. Lord Chancellor Voldemort," Tonks said, her gaze quite heavy.

"The Chancellor? What's his job?" Harry asked, softly.

"Voldemort can help you the most because the Chancellor is the presider of Justice. He knows the law better than anyone. He executes justice on behalf of the ruler. As Chancellor to Bellatrix, he ruled. As Chancellor to Draco, I think his power has lessened. Narcissa has Draco's ear," Tonks explained softly and she sighed, falling back on the bed. Harry fell next to her, lying on his side, running his fingers up and down Teddy's chubby legs.

"And Moody...Moody thinks he can control me. If he's on my Council?" Harry asked.

Tonks nodded. "But, he can't. We now know what he's planning. You have the power in this situation, Harry. You."

Harry swallowed. "Okay. Let's get to work."

 **WHO**

Gabrielle's head was bent over the shredded shirt, painstakingly run the thread through the tatters of cotton. She smiled to herself as the cloth came together as if it had never been torn in the first place. Fleur watched. Gabrielle hadn't even noticed her, so focused on her _work_. There was a half-trunk of mended clothing already. Fleur couldn't remember a time when Gabrielle had been so dedicated to their work rather than a book.

"What are you doing?" Fleur asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Gabrielle jumped at Fleur's voice.

"Um...mending. Like I'm supposed to," Gabrielle muttered. Fleur looked at her sister in disbelief.

"I see. When you've just spent coin on Master Binns' new volume on the rise of the Slytherins?" Fleur asked, laughing softly.

Gabrielle flushed. "You're always yelling at me for not helping so, I'm helping," she grumbled under her breath. She let out a tiny yelp as she pricked her finger again, blood welling to the surface, beading on to the shirt.

Fleur hummed. Now that she looked carefully, there were tiny spots of blood on everything and Gabrielle's fingers looked bright red, smeared with dried blood. She was putting _effort_ in.

"You're hurting yourself to do this. Do you wish to tell me why you haven't given me this massive trunk of clothing? You're smearing blood on everything," Fleur said pointedly.

Gabrielle flushed. "I can do it by myself, _Fleur_ ," she snapped. "A customer came in and he—"

Fleur laughed again, bright, like sound of pealing bells.

"Ah. _He_."

Gabrielle dropped the shirt, needle, and thread into her lap. She glared.

"It's not like that!" she protested. "He's not...it's not...he's a creature, I think. Like us."

Fleur shrugged and gave her sister a knowing smirk. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you find him attractive," Fleur suggested. Gabrielle made another sound of protest. "Ah, ah. Why is this so hard for you to admit?"

Gabrielle huffed and shook her head as she picked up her mending. She intended to finish at least two more shirts before she went to bathe and curl up with her book. The day had been long and she was tired and tomorrow, she'd have to wash the shirts of her blood and get started on the trousers.

"He's not...attractive. In the regular way. He's odd. Intriguing. A mystery," Gabrielle said.

Fleur frowned at her little sister's insistence.

"If you're not going to talk to me about it, fine. But just...don't do anything stupid. His clothes are fine, though tattered. He is a wealthy man and wealth means power. We don't want to attract the wrong sort of attention," Fleur said, snippily.

"I _know_ , Fleur," Gabrielle groaned in exasperation.

She watched her sister's back as the beautiful woman danced away the back room, probably to continue up one of the many Independence Day ball commissions that she had been receiving over the past few weeks. Abrielle glared for a moment before her harsh expression softened into a pensive look.

She wondered what Mr. Greyback had been doing that had reduced his beautiful clothing into shreds. She wondered if he was a wealthy man, as her sister perceived. Perhaps he was one of the Dukes of the Council, a creature flying under the radar to make right the country. Or even an adventurer of sorts. He had the rugged look of a man who knew the woods well. Perhaps he'd even been to the most famous woods of all—the Forbidden Forest.

Gabrielle glanced at Master Binns' new tome, all about the Slytherins. It almost called to her.

"No...got to finish the shirts like I said," she muttered to herself before she let out a long sigh.

There was work to be done and the candles wouldn't burn forever.

 **IS FAIREST**

"You have...a dragon," Ron said, stupidly, looking at the dragonet curled into Harry's lap. His lips were curled in disgust as Harry tried to coax the strips of cooked beef to the dragonet. It was shrieking is dislike, turning its head away.

"I've had a dragon for two weeks, Ron," Harry said without looking up. "Freia, my love, you must eat."

Charlie cleared his throat. Helpfully, he said, "Baby dragons should be fed a bucket of brandy mixed with chicken blood on a half-hour basis." Harry looked up, sharply, his green eyes narrowed. "Uh, but meat is good too. Probably raw meat would be better."

"Charlie...don't piss him off. He's got a _dragon_ ," Fred hissed from the corner of his mouth.

George snorted. "Yeah. You know the beast that was raised from _extinction_."

"You're not nearly as quiet as you think, my friends. Freia is not a _beast_ ," Harry said, his eyes cold and Ginny cleared her throat, thinking better of her jests about the baby dragon in Harry's lap. "Are you sure about this, Charlie?"

"Uh, yes, your Grace. I'm...I really like dragons," Charlie said with pink in his cheeks.

Harry smiled, beautifully, making Charlie flush darker. "I do too. Charlie, will you do something for me? Take Fred and George and help the cooks prepare at least two vats for Freia. I want to know that I'm doing the right thing by her. And if you see me doing anything else wrong, correct me."

"Yes, your Grace," Charlie said, bowing and taking a step back.

Fred and George mocked their brother, mouthing 'your Grace, your Grace', their faces twisted with amusement. Harry snorted behind his hand as the trio stepped out, leaving Ron, Ginny, and Bill. Percy was off, following after McGonagall, with notes in hand, as per usual.

"I can't believe you have a bloody dragon," Ron said, shaking his head in disbelief as he sat on the edge of the table. He looked at the dragon, purring like a cat. "You reckon it can breathe fire?"

"Only smoke at the moment. She's growing so fast," Harry said, softly. "Just a week ago, she could fit into my hands. Now, she's the size of a cat."

"Her name is 'Freia'. What does it mean?" Bill asked, curiously, pulling out a chair and sitting down, his eyes trained on Freia. Harry continued to stroke Freia's head as if he didn't notice the razor sharp teeth that were piercing through her gums, and the sharpening horns along her body.

"Freia means 'lady' in one of the old, ancient languages. She was an old god of love, beauty, war, and death," Harry said, patiently.

Ginny's eyes narrowed, shrewdly. "The embodiment of this war."

Freia let out a screech, as if approving of Ginny's words.

Harry's lips curled into a tight smile. "Exactly."

 **OF THEM**

Her eyes burned as waded through the ocean, her gown and cloak waterlogged. The only thing keeping her afloat was the selkie skin that she had stolen, wrapped around her to keep her as warm as she could be in the frigid icy waters. Bellatrix could smell it, taste it on her tongue—the salt bridge was near.

Bellatrix grit her teeth against the burning salt as she reached forward with her heavy arm. She curled her fingers into the churning sea and let out a sound of triumph as her fingers sunk into something hard and rocky. She ripped at it and saw little coral-colored crystals cutting into the hardened skin of her palm.

With effort, she pulled herself out of the ocean and crawled onto the hard surface. Bellatrix watched in wonder as the salt bridge rose from just beneath the surface, a long pink bridge that led farther and farther away from the shores of Albion.

Bellatrix looked over her shoulder. The mountains and beaches of Albion were lost to the night, formless shadows on a moonless horizon. Her Albion, her empire. It nearly made her want to weep. All of the things that she had lost in her sister's pursuit of power. Her throne, her Albion, her brother. _Tom_.

Tom who had the Fairest on his lap. Tom who had not come for her. Tom who had forgotten her.

Bellatrix let out a cry and slammed her fist into the salt bridge. The jagged edges cut into her skin, blood streaking. The cuts burned, the salt of the ocean still dripping off of her in puddles onto the salt bridge.

The crone pushed herself to her feet, a foul expression upon her face as she began to walk. She would walk until she found the end of this salt bridge until she found the Sea Warlock. He would help restore her to her former bliss. He would return her beauty and her magic. Bellatrix would not stop, though the soles of her feet were touch and streaked with red from broken blisters. She would not fail.

She would pay any price.

"We will seek and we will find. I wonder...I wonder...I wonder. So, so far, we shall have his heart. We shall have his heart. And his heart is ours...and his heart is _mine_ ," Bellatrix promised herself and she closed her eyes against the salty winds, tears streaking down her wizened face.

She imagined that stupid boy's glassy green eyes. How they would look when she had broken his heart out of his chest with her own bare hands.

Eyes wide with horror. Skin pale as death. Lips red with his own blood. Black hair strewn across the ground. Agony. She would keep him alive until the very end.

He had taken from her.

He had taken her beauty.

He had taken her brother.

She would take his heart.

 **ALL?**

She sat before the fragile pages of the old tome, unseeing. The words had blurred together on her page, becoming nothing more than nonsense, read a thousand times over. There was nothing in the book that she had not known, that she had not lived. Reading it all, her histories had once given her comfort. No longer. The old woman pushed the book from her desk, violently. It hit the floor with a heavy thud, dying in a small cloud of dust.

The old woman stood, abruptly, dark blue robes dragging across the rotting wooden floors. She gazed out of the window, her eyes caught on the Narrow Sea. If she looked far enough right, she could see the shapeless form of the Narrow Bridge. The great bridge had been one of the accomplishments she had been most proud of. If she looked far enough across the sea, she thought she might be able to see the coast to the mainland.

How she missed the mainland. How she missed Essetir, the East.

The tide was high, frothing, swirling blackness brushing across white stone, as if they were lovers. Really, it was only old cliffs, on which her little cottage teetered on the edge of.

Nothing more and nothing less.

The woman turned away from the window, her long silver mane swinging against her back. She walked as a queen should. She looked to the second bedroom. She wondered if her beloved friend was asleep or if he had been awakened by the knocking of magic too.

The Once Queen shook herself and sat her armchair, eyes sliding shut. When she stared at the black of her eyelids, she could remember Helena's laughter—Helena who hurt to remember at all—and Lily running through the orchards, Fawkes soaring high above her. She could remember watching Lily scale trees like a small money and James crawling up after her.

"Rowena."

The voice trembled with age. Rowena Ravenclaw remembered a time when Salazar's voice inspired fear and respect, full of power.

"Salazar?" she asked.

"The blade burned."

Rowena flinched.

"There's...so, the rumors are true. Lily had a son...there's an _Heir_ ," Rowena whispered, her voice cracking with hope. She didn't dare smile just yet, not when it felt so unreal.

Salazar nodded. "A Prince, Rowena. A Prince _lives_."

Rowena stood from her seat so suddenly, her armchair rocked, scraping against the wooden floors. She went to Salazar, gripping his forearms tight. His emotions were hard to discern, as per usual, but Rowena saw a glimmer of hope.

"Then, we must send for him. Collect him," Rowena insisted.

Salazar shook his head. "No."

"No?"

"No," Salazar confirmed. "Not yet, at least. He must train. He must grow strong. The blade burns hot but, he is not ready to wield the Sword. Not yet."

Rowena sagged within herself, disappointment stirring low in her body. Her 'grand-nephew' was not yet ready to assume his place. But, there was still hope that he would bring an end to the wars.

"Many years ago, your wife brought great evil into the world."

Her words were blunt, harsh, and nothing but truth. Salazar did not flinch. She had spoken the words so many times before and every time, the words had hurt less and less than before. Every time, they felt more and more true.

Salazar was not blind nor was he a fool.

Four children. Four beautiful children. One was chaos, twitching with energy, so much that it ate her alive. One was diamond, unbreakable. One was iron, solid and heavy with grief. The last, his only son, was ice.

"Many years ago, my wife brought great evil into this world," Salazar agreed, his voice soft.

Rowena looked at him, solemn. "And many years later, the Prince of Gryffindor shall rid this world of great evil."

"And many years later, the Prince of Gryffindor shall rid this world of great evil," Salazar confirmed.

Rowena smiled.

Before she died alone, before her time was gone, before the _world_ was gone, she'd have her vengeance.

For her broken kingdom.

For her stolen life.

For her murdered Helena.

:::

 **A/N:** This chapter is really short but, the next one is much, much longer. I hope you enjoy my return to this story. I know I said I'd update once a week but, I'll be going back to school this Saturday and in celebration, I'd like to give you another chapter before school starts. As always, I really enjoy comments and reviews.

I'd love to hear what you liked, disliked, or think I can add. Something or anything you'd like to see.


	18. Chapter Fourteen

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Fourteen

Voldemort had always enjoyed the view from his study. The road into Forbidden Forest, on his side of the castle, led south, and cut into Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade had always been enjoyable when he was a boy. Now, he stared out on the troops training, troops that would be his downfall, falling in line behind Dolohov, the imbecile. On the other side of the castle were the carriages and caravans belonging to the Houses that had been invited to court. Houses that Voldemort wouldn't dare trust.

"Surrounded on all sides by psychopathic idiots," Voldemort sighed.

Severus and Lucius exchanged pointed glances. Severus cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"My Lord, will you permit me to speak my mind?" Severus asked, slowly.

Voldemort rolled his red gaze onto his most trusted lieutenants. "You may," he drawled.

"Much of this was... _your_ doing, my Lord," Severus said, slowly.

" _Crucio_."

Voldemort didn't let it go on long. Only a few seconds. Enough that Severus wheezed on his knees, breathing hard as if he'd just run a race. Voldemort stared. Any longer would've been hypocritical. He _had_ permitted the man to speak, anyway.

"Apologies, my Lord," Severus gasped.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "I'm sure, Severus," he drawled. He turned and sat back at his desk. " _Accio_ journal."

A nondescript black book flew from his bookcase and floated gently in front of him. It flipped open, revealing his pages and pages of secrets.

"My Lord?" Lucius asked.

"I am looking for potential allies for the King," Voldemort drawled as he looked through the secrets. His fingers stopped. Alfheim. A country of savages—warriors trained harder than even Andromeda's servants. A very _poor_ country of savages. And their king...well, Voldemort knew things about him. "We'll need coin too."

"My Lord, forgive me, but you do not speak of my son, do you?" Lucius asked, his voice soft.

Voldemort looked up, sharply. "I know one King and it is the King in the South. You know this."

"I take no issue," Lucius said immediately. "I only wanted to clarify."

He nearly pouted and Voldemort stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Lucius was such a child, it was nearly amusing. He looked between Lucius and Severus. Lucius lounged across his sofa, inspecting his wizarding chessboard. Severus stared out of the window, watching from afar.

"We cannot return just yet," Voldemort said.

Severus turned a sharp gaze to the Dark Lord.

"So, we'll be joining you next time," Lucius said, very nearly whining.

The Dark Lord rolled his eyes. "You will soon. Your skills can be utilized while we are there. It's been nearly three weeks. There is work to be done."

"There is _always_ work to be done, my Lord," Severus said, his voice soft as he looked at the grounds. Dolohov remained outside, training the new Aurors. Aurors that would be replaced by the ones lost. "Did he really burn them all?"

"He did," Voldemort said. "And he has a dragon."

"A _dragon_?" Lucius said, choking over his wine. Severus turned sharply.

"A _dragon_?" Severus hissed.

"He calls her...Freia," Voldemort said, his lips curled into a sneer. "She is a Horntail, and she will grow fast. His fire...awakened a petrified dragon egg."

"Merlin…" Lucius breathed, finishing his wine in one swallow.

Severus turned to stare back at the training soldiers. Young and fresh-faced and eager to serve. Sons of men and women, ready to prove themselves. Severus had seen Harry Potter. He had seen the boy-prince. The boy-prince that had stricken fear and grimness into Draco's face. The _King_ that haunted some of the Aurors. The King with a dragon.

What a bloody, bloody war this would be. A war of fire and blood.

"My Lord, we have decided who is loyal," Severus said.

Voldemort paused. "Do tell."

"Barty will remain loyal. And House Lestrange," Lucius volunteered even as Severus glowered at him. Voldemort snorted in vague amusement.

"Oh, I know. Rodolphus has made his disdain quite clear. He's lucky he's my Death Eater. Draco would've had him executed already," Voldemort drawled. Rodolphus had never been one to flatter, not after Bellatrix, and he had very little patience with children. "Dolohov and Macnair are traitors, aren't they?"

"That is...the conclusion we came to, as well, my Lord," Severus said, nearly apologetic. Only nearly. Severus never apologized, not even for his own mistakes. He simply did better.

"What about—"

Voldemort paused as he felt his wards tremble against a force of magic. It was strange. It nearly felt like Magic's knock but, forceful and threatening. Voldemort lifted his wand, peeling back the wards and his door slammed open. Andromeda swept in and slammed the door shut behind her.

She strode up to Voldemort's desk.

"I know you've been back," Andromeda said, harshly, ignoring Severus and Lucius. They attempted to gather their notes and papers, hiding them from her. Andromeda cast them a dangerous look. "I _know_ what my brother is up to. I'm surprised at you Lucius. Betraying your son. Your own blood."

"I am not like you Slytherins. I do not put blood over the good of the realm, of the world, and the good health of my son's mind," Lucius said, his voice hard. "I love my son but, he is long-lost. I would put him out of his misery."

Andromeda snorted and turned back to her brother, her arms crossed over her chest.

"I want to know about my daughter. You've seen her again. How is she? What does she look like?" Andromeda demanded. "I want to see her."

Voldemort hummed. "Do you?" he drawled.

"Yes. And you can't keep me from her," Andromeda spat.

Voldemort regarded his sister for a long moment, simply looking at her with a slight tilt of his head. Andromeda glowered back, standing her ground. She had always been the only sister that stood up to him. He enjoyed his battles with her.

"I daresay I can. I already told you," Voldemort said as he reached for the pitcher of water and began to pour into a crystal goblet. He paused, waving his wand over the water. It turned to blood-red wine and Andromeda took it, draining half the glass in one go.

"I haven't even met your prince. I do what is in the best interest of my people. Afallon," Andromeda said.

"It is in your best interest to bend the knee, Lady Warden," Severus warned.

Voldemort looked up sharply. Severus did not look at his Lord nor did he acknowledge his warning glance. Severus strode forward, pouring more of the water-turned-wine into Andromeda's cup. She regarded it.

"And why would you say that, Severus?" she drawled. "What would the prince of Gryffindor give me. My people live comfortably now and largely independent from the King's rule. We are separated by the Narrow Sea. I could burn the Narrow Bridge. I could set up wards, hiding us away. I am not afraid of this war."

"You should be," Lucius said. "You should be afraid."

"Why?" Andromeda snarled, taking a long swig of her wine.

"He has a dragon," Severus said, shortly. "And he has your daughter."

Andromeda inhaled sharply and stared into her goblet of wine, careful not to say anything else. She had never seen a dragon but, she vaguely remembered her Aunt Helga's tall tales about slaying the last dragons of the land. Her own wand's core was a petrified dragon heartstring. To hear that the beasts that had ravaged her land breathed and wandered Albion again made her only wish to be drunker.

Voldemort reached across the table, holding Andromeda's goblet to the desk.

"Andromeda, my dear, _dear_ sister," Voldemort mocked. Andromeda sneered. "Bend the knee to the _King_ of Albion and I will bring you to Nymphadora myself."

Andromeda ripped her glass from Voldemort's hand, wine sloshing over their fingers. She drained the goblet and set it down so hard, it cracked. She regarded the three of them for a long time before she swept from the room, the only sound her steps and the clinking of her chainmail.

 **MIRROR**

Luna moved around the room with a sort of grace that Hermione didn't often see from her. She looked calm, her gaze far away as she looked between the two gowns, one bottle green, a Slytherin color, and the other periwinkle, like the gown that she had worn when Hermione had first seen Draco. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Periwinkle," she requested. It was the last time she had felt nearly like herself.

"A good choice," Luna declared, less enthusiastic than she usually would be. She pulled the periwinkle gown and held it out. Hermione stepped into it and allowed Luna to lace her up. "The House Longbottom is quite kind, I believe. There is no need to worry. They won't harbor you ill will."

Hermione didn't respond as Luna laced the robes up, using her wand to guide the laces and stays into place. Luna guided Hermione to the chair and set to work, attempting to tame her hair. It was typical now that Luna smeared Sleakeazy all over Hermione's head. A simple braid was not becoming of a future queen.

" _Fanuilos heryn aglar_

 _Aran athar haradren-d_ _ôr,_

 _Calad ammen i reniar_

 _Mi 'aladhremmin ennorath!"_ Luna sang, softly as she smeared the Sleakeazy over the thick curls, running a comb through and watching it come away long and straight like silk.

Hermione closed her eyes as Luna sang, her voice ethereal. She had never heard Luna sing but it was stunning. It soothed her soul and yet, her heart beat faster. She could get used to hearing her.

" _A Wyrdfod Raw_

 _I chîn a thûl lin míriel_

 _Fanuilos le linnathon_

 _Ne ndor haer thar i aearon."_

Luna sang as she weaved Hermione's hair and Hermione gasped as she looked at the young woman. Her eyes were pale, her pupils the size of tiny pinpricks. She didn't seem to be seeing what she was doing, her muscles trained. Luna waved in an imaginary wind, a tiny slip of a girl with such a big powerful voice.

" _A elin na gaim eglerib_

 _Ned în ben-anor trerennin_

 _Si silivrin ne pherth 'waewib_

 _Cenim rovalug dosta dram_

 _A Wyrdfod Raw_

 _Men echenim sí cordof derthiel_

 _Ne chaered hen nu 'aladhath_

 _Ngilith or haradren-d_ _ôr_ _._ "

The song came to an end and Hermione's dread had disappeared, floating away. Luna looked down at her and smiled. Hermione's hair had been tamed into an elaborately braided bun that was heavy at the nape of her neck.

"My...my friend, Fleur, used to speak in that language," Hermione whispered.

"It is the language of the Fae. Do you feel better?" Luna said, softly. Hermione laughed, nodding as she looked up at the woman. Luna smiled, squeezing Hermione's shoulders. "Good."

"What...what were you singing about?" Hermione asked, curiously.

Luna hummed. "The Wyrdfod."

"What is that?"

"We cannot...it is hard...to translate," Luna said, as if the word escaped her. Hermione mouthed the word 'Wyrdfod'. It fit awkwardly in her mouth. "I suppose...Fateborn. _Er-amarthan._ That is what we called fated ones. But, Wyrdfod...Wyrdfod is specific. A king, white as snow, that roars and breathes fire. It is a prophecy."

Hermione hummed. She had never put much stock in prophecies, and especially, not after Fleur. Fleur had foreseen great happiness for Hermione in Albion. Hermione had yet to experience any happiness at all except for the rare moments of quiet that she had when she saw with Luna in her room. Otherwise, she was utterly alone. Suddenly, her stomach ached. She missed Fleur and Gabrielle more than anything.

Luna reached for her hand. "Please, Hermione...tell me what's wrong. You are not usually so sad."

"It's just…it's Independence Day in the Republic. My father's favorite holiday and the anniversary of his wedding to my stepmother."

 **MIRROR**

The bell on the door rang. Gabrielle pretended, she didn't hear it, too engrossed in her new book. The rise of the Slytherins was so interesting. They were so monstrous and mystical. And the portraits of them showed that they were just as beautiful as Master Binns' described. The Albion books always made Gabrielle excited. She prayed for another volume soon.

Gabrielle turned the page, intrigued by the tales of gnomes and dwarves and trolls and giants all under the Slytherin regime. Creatures roamed freely in Albion, something wasn't allowed in the Republic. Gabrielle hummed in delight. Albion sounded wonderful sometimes. Even the war sounded better than her life in Republic, constantly under threat and suspicion.

"Are you enjoying that book?" a low voice purred.

Gabrielle jumped, her book dropping to the counter with a loud thud. She cursed low as her fingers slipped and she lost her page. She looked up at the man who grinned down at her. His lips were curled back over too sharp teeth, and his hair hung wild around his face. This time Gabrielle noticed the thick, jagged scar that curled from behind his ear, down his neck, and past his collar.

"Oh! Mr. Greyback...is it time already?" Gabrielle stuttered as she tried to flip to her page again. She flushed as she folded over the corner of the page and made to throw the book down at her feet.

Before Gabrielle could, Fenrir plucked the book from her fingers and looked at the cover before he flipped to the page she had marked. He looked back up at her with amber eyes and a wicked smile. Gabrielle fought to keep her flush away and she sighed in relief when she succeeded.

"You know, Miss Gabrielle, if someone unsavory found you reading a book that could be said to be sympathetic towards creatures, you could get into a lot of trouble," Fenrir drawled, nearly apologetic. Gabrielle pressed her lips into a thin line and she snatched the book from the man and dropped it to her feet, pushing it farther beneath the counter.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Gabrielle whispered, tracing the grain of the counter.

Fenrir's hand flashed out, grabbing her hand and turning it over, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

"I'm not one of the unsavory, my dear," Fenrir said, his voice terribly soft.

Gabrielle blushed and pulled her hand back. She slid out of her seat and proceeded towards the backroom. Gabrielle looked over her shoulder and flushed. Fenrir was staring at her with the oddest look on his face. He looked hungry and Gabrielle found that he was nearly handsome despite the animalistic slant to his face.

She carefully ignored Fleur as she did the final fitting for Brigitte Godard's Independence Ball robes. Brigitte Godard was a debutante who was the daughter of a wizarding merchant that specialized in foreign potion ingredients. _She_ had been to Albion many times according to the bragging that punctuated her visits to the shop.

"Do you need something?" Fleur asked.

"Customer came for a trunk," Gabrielle said, looking through the table of shrunken trunks. She plucked Fenrir's trunk up and made her way back to the front of the shop.

Fenrir's lips curled into a wider smile.

"Would you prefer it shrunken or shall I spell it big again?" Gabrielle asked, as pleasantly and professionally as possible.

"It's all finished, then. There were nearly three wardrobes of clothes in there, most in ruins. I thought you would've told me it was impossible," Fenrir said.

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed. "If you knew they were in ruins, why did you give them to us? It was quite a lot, I'll have you know. It took _hours_ away from my reading time," she said, crossly and when she realized what she had said, she cleared her throat in embarrassment.

Fenrir let out a rough laugh.

"Well, then, I'm sincerely sorry, Miss Gabrielle, and I hope that you'll find it in you to forgive me. Didn't think you'd be doing all the mending," he said, teasing.

Gabrielle's lips twitched. "Well, I _was_ the one to do all the mending. And I finished my book anyway. I had to do half of it by _hand_ because magic wouldn't get all of the tiny stitch-work right," Gabrielle complained, annoyed, and she was surprised when Fenrir nodded, as if he actually cared about Gabrielle's stitch-work and her reading time.

"I'm sure. Now, pretty girl, what will the price be for your hard work?" Fenrir asked with a slow smile and Gabrielle hummed, looking down at Fleur's book, searching for the price.

"Seventeen galleons and three sickles, Mr. Greyback," Gabrielle said. She watched as Fenrir pulled out a small brown pouch from the inside of his heavy cloak and tossed it on the counter.

Gabrielle opened it and carefully counted out twenty-six galleons. Her eyes went wide.

"You can keep the change," Fenrir said, offhandedly.

Gabrielle shook her head. "But, that's not right. It's your money."

"Buy a new book then, pretty girl. Fill your head with tales of faraway countries at wars," Fenrir said, firmly.

"I only need seventeen galleon and three sickles. A book is two galleons at _most_ ," Gabrielle insisted.

"Fine, pretty girl. Keep the change and in return, I'd ask you to attend the Independence Ball at the _Manoir_ tonight. I would enjoy your company," Fenrir said, and he pulled forth two starched invitations, beautiful calligraphy addressed with Fleur and Gabrielle's names embossed.

"How did you...I'm not…" Gabrielle said, settling a clenched fist on the countertop.

"My dear, everyone knows the Delacour girls. It was quite hard _not_ to find your name on some man's lips. You're beautiful," Fenrir said and Gabrielle felt her cheeks grow hot. She shook her head, looking down at the invitations on the countertop.

"I...thank you, Mr. Greyback. I'll discuss this with my sister," Gabrielle whispered.

Fenrir nodded and grabbed her clenched fist and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Gabrielle gasped softly.

"I hope to see you tonight, Miss Gabrielle," Fenrir said and he scooped up his shrunken trunk and strolled towards the door, his walk increasingly predatory.

Gabrielle found herself shouting at his back, "Just Gabrielle, sir!"

Fenrir looked over his shoulder as he exited the shop, his grin wide.

"Then, it's just Fenrir, miss!"

As soon as the bell jangled, Gabrielle snatched up the invitations and she scooped the galleons back into the little sack. She ran towards the back room, stumbling over her own feet. Brigitte was just finishing up her fitting, posing in front of the full-body mirror. Gabrielle bit her lower lip in envy, looking at the hunter green robes. It was in the old Albion style, open and showing her breasts like Morgin of Afallon had done. She was stunning as always and in a non-magical way. Oh, Gabrielle was _envious_.

"Gabrielle, what is it? I'm in the middle of a fitting," Fleur said, confusion coloring her voice.

"I know...but, well...I just received two invitations from the Independence Ball at the _Manoir_ from a client!" Gabrielle confessed and Fleur nearly dropped the needle that was held in between her slender fingers.

Gabrielle felt a thrill of satisfaction as Brigitte gasped.

"From which client?" Fleur asked, patiently.

"Mr. Greyback. He gave us _twenty-six_ galleons and when I said that was too much and that it wasn't fair, he said that I should go with him to the ball in exchange. He wants me... _us_..to be there. Could we go? _Please_?" Gabrielle begged and Fleur's eyes widened as the words flowed from Gabrielle's mouth without the younger girl taking a single breath.

Fleur's eyes narrowed as she thought over Gabrielle's request. Her lips quirked into a half-smile.

"Mr. Greyback? Did he really give us that much? It was only a trunk," Fleur said.

Brigitte snorted, shaking her head. "Little girl, you must be mistaken. Mr. Greyback is a great and influential man. One of the highest-ranking officials in the Republic. He wouldn't invite a little girl as his companion."

Gabrielle glared at the merchant heiress.

"You've no idea what you're talking about. I was invited and I have the invitations to prove it, not that is should be any concern of _yours_ ," Gabrielle said coldly before turning soft eyes onto her sister. "Please, Fleur. He invited us. Could we go? Please?"

The older Delacour sister looked at Gabrielle's face before a cautious smile spread across her face.

"Alright. We'll go."

 **ON**

"Lady Hermione," the woman proclaimed, with bright eyes and a small smile.

Lady Daphne Greengrass was a beautiful woman, with long cornflower silk hair pulled back from her face, and a perky upturned nose. Her wide smile matched her round face. There was something rather alien about her beauty, the way her skin was nearly tinged green in the light of the Greenhouse, her eyes light and pointed. She was far lovelier than Hermione and Hermione knew it. Hermione swallowed. She had seen how Draco had looked at Daphne. Daphne was one to watch.

"Lady Daphne, it is so very good to meet you," Hermione said with a short little curtsey.

Daphne laughed. It was a practiced sound. "My Lady, I should be curtseying to you. One day you will be Queen!"

"I suppose," Hermione allowed with a nervous smile. She looked over her shoulder at Luna but, her maid was already disappearing back to the grounds. "You do not stay in the castle?"

"No. My brother-ward, Neville, is a Herbologist and prefers to stay close to his plants. And my grandmother...well...I'm sure you'll understand soon enough. Come, she's eager to meet you," Daphne said, reaching forward and looping her arm around Hermione's thin waist.

Hermione jerked against her but didn't pull away. She stared in wonder as Daphne guided her into the largest Longbottom tent. It was much warmer than the unforgiving November air. Hermione twisted her fur cloak off her back, holding it in her arms as she looked around.

The tent was an enormous greenhouse, full of magical plants, some that Hermione had never seen before. Foreign, violently colored flowers dangled from the ceilings. It was a lush, green paradise, so similar to the orchards of Hogwarts grounds and yet, so much brighter. _Happier_. Men and women, dressed in clothing that looked far more appropriate for Alfheim, a country to the South, danced around, dirt-encrusted fingers potting and repotting plants.

"This is _wonderful_ ," Hermione said, unable to help herself.

Daphne laughed. "All my ward-brother's work. Here he comes. Neville!"

Neville Longbottom was nearly unrecognizable in ragged, mud-covered robes. They were open over a tunic and old ratty breeches, and he looked nearly happy. When Hermione had seen him just a few days before, he had been solemn and wane but, he was a handsome young man. Neville's round face brightened at the sight of his sister.

"Daph!" he laughed, and he turned back to his pots. He had been tending to a strange plant that resembled a rather large, thick black slug which oozed a strange yellow pus. "And Lady Hermione. Welcome to the Greenhouse."

"It's lovely, my Lord," Hermione said. She eagerly moved forward, pulling away from Daphne's hold. She reached a finger forward towards one of the shiny protrusions. "What's this?"

" _Protego!_ " Neville and Daphne called out at once as yellow pus exploded forward. Hermione jerked back, wide-eyed as the pus slid down from the magical shield.

Neville winced, looking at her wild eyes, as if he expected to be reprimanded.

Hermione grinned. "Oh, Merlin. I've never seen anything like it. How extraordinary."

Neville grinned. "Isn't it? It's a Bubotuber. Bubotuber pus is very good for treating spots, you know. I'm not sure if Daphne has told you. I'm a Herbologist."

"She has!" Hermione said. "Have you seen the Whomping Willow? It's a strange specimen. I haven't gotten near but, my maid tells me the funniest stories about it."

"It's one of the reasons that I came," Neville said, leaning forward with a bright smile on his face, a flush on his cheeks. Hermione laughed, flushing despite herself.

It had been a long time since she had been met with any sort of kindness.

"Brother, should you be flirting with the King's betrothed?" Daphne teased.

Hermione swallowed hard, looking away. Neville made a sound of protest.

"I...it's been quite some time since I've engaged in intellectual conversation, my Lady. In my country, the Republic, I wished to one day be an activist. An academic," Hermione said, honestly and Daphne's gaze softened as she took Hermione's hand, squeezing tightly.

"I'm only teasing, my Lady. I understand. Happy Independence Day," Daphne said, softly.

Hermione gasped, a tiny smile twisting her lips. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Now, come! My grandmother is not a patient woman," Daphne said and she tugged Hermione forward, through the long winding paths of Muggle and magical plants alike. Hermione looked around in wonder and glanced over her shoulder.

Neville waved. Hermione waved back, grinning. Such a friendly, kind man. Like his sister-ward.

When Hermione saw her, she was struck. Augusta Longbottom was a formidable woman and even sitting at her tea table, she looked tall and thin. A vulture, haggard and terrifying, sat on the back of her chair, gnawing as one of the maids, draped in sheer silk fed it raw chunks of meat.

"Lady Hermione, it's an honor to present my grandmother, the Lady Augusta of House Longbottom," Daphne said as they approached the table.

Augusta extended her hand and Hermione took it, kissing her knuckles immediately. Augusta smiled.

"It's so good of you to visit me. Come join us for tea and cakes," Augusta insisted and Hermione nodded with a shy smile, settling in her chair. Daphne fell into her own chair, leaning back. "Do you enjoy the Greenhouse?"

"It's lovely, isn't it? Only the orchards here can rival them, I expect," Daphne said with a tiny smile as she waited to be served her tea. She was the most impeccable lady that Hermione had ever seen. She envied her.

"Do you know my grandson? The Lord of Arcadia?" Augusta asked.

Hermione smiled. "I've just had the pleasure."

Augusta chuckled. "No great pleasure, believe me. My grandson is a kind-hearted oaf. Not much of a Lord, if you ask me. Much like my husband, the late Lord Longbottom. He managed to ride off a cliff whilst hunting," Augusta said, rolling her eyes. Hermione let out a tiny laugh. Now...I want you to tell me the truth about this royal king. Draco."

Hermione stiffened and she looked around. She couldn't be sure that all of these women and men belonged to House Longbottom. "I...I…"

"You, you," Augusta mocked. "We've heard troubling tales, my dear. Is there any truth to them? Is he as terrible as his predecessor?"

Hermione looked down, silent. She missed Augusta and Daphne exchanging glances.

"Has he ripped out your tongue, girl?" Augusta demanded.

"Draco...King Draco, his Grace, is very fair and handsome and as cunning as a snake…"

"Yes, all Slytherins are snakes. And when a Longbottom farts, it smells like an ass," August snapped, her eyes narrowed. Hermione looked up, sharply, a startled laugh escaping her. "But, how kind is he? How clever? Has he a good heart, a gentle hand?"

Daphne reached forward, grabbing Hermione's hand as she began to pull scones and cream, putting it on a tiny saucer for Hermione. She began to plate poached eggs.

"Please, Hermione. We are to be friends and I've never been to court. I only want to know," Daphne said, so sweetly, pressing the saucer against Hermione's hands. Hermione was helpless and she began to nibble at the scone. It didn't taste like ash, like the food at Hogwarts. Perhaps because this food had been given to her by kind people.

A server appeared with breakfast cakes on a platter.

"Bring me sausages. I wish for something savory," Augusta said grimly.

The server cleared his throat. "The meats will be served momentarily, my lady."

"The sausages will be served when I want it served," Augusta said. "I want it now."

The server nodded. He bowed and left.

"Are you frightened, my girl? There's no need for that. After all, we're only women. Tell us the truth. We shall protect you," Augusta swore.

Hermione cleared her throat. She needed no protection. She had her wits and magic now, and she didn't think Draco would dare lay another hand on her after the Dark Lord had defended her. However, he would find a way to torment her mentally. She was sure of that.

"My father always told the truth. He was a merchant of the Gaul Republic," Hermione said, her voice soft. "My stepmother, Lady Zabini, killed him. I'm sure of it. With his death came slavery. I was her slave in all but name. And...and I met Draco at a ball. He promised me mercy. That he would bring me to a new life free of servitude."

She paused.

"Go on," Daphne murmured. "There's no need to be afraid. Grandmother, tell her."

"We would never betray your confidence, Lady Hermione," Augusta promised.

Hermione swallowed. "He's a monster."

Neither Augusta or Daphne reacted as she thought they would. Augusta let out a long sigh and took a sip of her tea, shaking her head.

"As we expected," Augusta said.

"Monsters can be tamed. I know that well," Daphne said with a glint in her eyes and Augusta chuckled, patting her granddaughter-ward's cheek. Hermione looked at them, bewildered.

"You are not surprised?" Hermione asked.

"No," Augusta drawled. "Look at his bitch-mother. We are not surprised of his monstrosity. Even so, we thank you for your truths. Ah! Here comes my sausages!"

 **THE**

"Madame," Harry began, his voice barely above a whisper in the clatter the Order members made in their haste to get in their seats. "I believe you're sitting in my chair. You may sit directly to the left."

McGonagall's eyes widened and Moody and Fendwick sputtered. Tonks grinned, madly, and the Order members stared. Ron flushed.

"Harry, the Madame has—" Ron began.

McGonagall shook her head, a strange look of approval in her eyes. She slowly moved to the empty seat to the right and Harry settled at the head of the table, looking over all of the Order members with cold eyes. Freia reared back on his shoulder, letting out a loud piercing shriek. The members shifted and jumped, uncomfortable. McKinnon jerked back, her nostrils flared. Harry smiled.

"I, Harry Wildfyre, First of His Name, call this meeting to order," Harry declared and he leaned back in his chair, looking over the Order members, one by one. He paused when he looked upon Moody, a mutinous look in his mismatched eyes. Harry smiled. "Mister Moody, you called this meeting for a reason, yes?"

"Yes, your Highness," Moody snarled.

"It's 'your Grace'," Tonks said. Moody glowered at her but, Tonks was not cowed. "He is not a Prince. He is the Rightful King-Emperor of Albion. You call him 'your Grace'."

"Your Grace," Moody spat. "I called this meeting to discuss your Council. You have shown yourself which means that the people know your name. You say you are King. Every good king needs council."

Harry nodded, slowly. "You're right, Mister Moody. Every good king is in need of council."

Moody looked surprised by Harry's approval. He straightened, gaining confidence when Harry didn't fight him. He glanced at McGonagall and McGonagall shifted, her expression betraying nothing. She was a cool woman, always had been. She had to be, to be the leader of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Madame McGonagall, Fendwick, and I have discussed possibilities. The top ranking councilmembers are the Lord of Whispers, Lord of the Coin, and the Chancellor," Moody said, very matter of factly. He waited again for another of Harry's outbursts. Harry was barely paying attention, cooing softly to his beast. Moody gritted his teeth.

"Go on," Harry said, never looking away from the dragonet that shrieked and nipped at his fingers playfully. The dragonet let out a soft huff, a plume of smoke emerging.

There was a nervous shifting and Harry laughed, softly.

"After further discussions, we have come to a consensus that I shall assume your council as Lord of Whispers, Fenwick as Lord of the Coin, and the Madame as your Chancellor," Moody said, his voice quite firm.

Harry's quiet laughter cut off immediately. He slowly turned bright green eyes onto Moody, tilting his head in quiet observation.

"You mean to _tell_ me my Council rather than making suggestions?" Harry asked. He waited for confirmation, never taking his poisonous green gaze from Moody. Moody shifted once.

His eyes were magical, allowing him to see through most any illusion. Harry's gaze was like he could see into one's soul. It was distracting and unnerving and dangerous.

"Yes," Fendwick said, gruff.

Harry hummed. "I'm afraid that I've already selected a Council," Harry said.

There was a loud noise of protest. McKinnon leaned forward, her eyes narrowed.

"You've been King for five minutes, your _Grace_. I think it would be wise to listen to the words of older men and women than you," McKinnon snapped.

Remus shifted, uncomfortably in his seat. "I mean to agree, your Grace. The Madame is a wise woman—"

"Harry, are you really going to—"

"But, what about—"

And then the dragonet let out a loud piercing shriek again, her wings flaring out dangerously. The room fell silent and people jerked back, pulling wands in fright. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Be quiet, Freia," he said, sharply. The dragonet cooed and pulled back, settling in his lap, curling up like a large, fat cat. Her poisonous yellow eyes tracked every person in the room, waiting for a threat to her human.

"You've selected a Council already?" Moody demanded, irritated.

McGonagall held up a hand. "Your Grace, if you've selected a Council, I have no disagreement with that. I just wish you would look to us for council as well. We have much wisdom between the three of us," McGonagall said, her voice gentle but stern.

Harry's lips curled into a genuine smile. "Of course, Madame," Harry said, honestly. "But, I have consulted witches and wizards older than myself, and I have chosen a mix of old and new to council me through this war and beyond it."

Ginny looked at him, eyes curious. She was giving him the benefit of the doubt. It made Harry's smile widen. "Then, what is it?" she asked.

Harry cleared his throat. "First, I would legitimize the Weasleys as children of House Prewett. When I have in hand the seal of Gryffindor, that is my first order of business. How do you feel about that, Weasleys?" Harry asked.

Bill let out a choked sound and Ginny reached for Ron's hand, squeezing hard. The twins looked at each other and Percy and Charlie burst into whispers. Harry's lips twitched.

"How would you...legitimize us?" Bill asked, his voice soft.

"I would declare your parents' marriage legal. They deserve such respect, do they not?" Harry asked.

"Yes, yes. Thank you, your Grace," Fred cheered.

"All hail Harry, the tosser who lived!" George laughed.

Ginny smacked her brothers over the head, reaching over Ron's head. Harry let out a bright laugh and nodded. He looked around the table. The Order members looked surprised but, not altogether put out by his proposal.

"That's all well and good but—" Fendwick drawled, already bored with the proceedings.

"What does that have to do with Council?" Moody interrupted roughly.

Harry hummed. "Well, it had to do with my choice of councilmembers. Bill Weasley, Lord of House Prewett, is a skilled curse breaker, the most gifted at Arimanthancy and numbers," Harry said, ignoring the wounded look McKinnon gave him. She was a skilled curse breaker too. "I have no talent with numbers. I would make Bill Weasley the Lord of the Coin."

The room burst into another round of whispers and talking and Harry let it pass, keeping his eyes on Bill. The man's face was bright red and he squirmed in his seat, tucking long orange hair behind his pierced ears. He looked over at his siblings and they nodded, eagerly.

"It would be...an _honor_ , your Grace," Bill said, his voice soft.

"Good. I am glad to have you on my Council, my Lord," Harry said and he turned to the rest of the Weasleys, humming. "I would have Ginny Weasley as the Commander of the Archers. In my time here, I have not seen her miss once and she is a formidable leader. Would you disagree, Mister Moody?"

Moody snarled, " _No._ "

"Good," Harry said with a bright smile. He looked to Ginny. "Is that something you would consider, my Lady?"

Ginny snorted. "I'm not Lady but, I will gladly be your Commander of Archers."

Harry laughed and leaned back in his seat.

"I have also chosen to create a new seat on my Council," Harry said.

"You can't do that," Emmeline protested, leaning forward. "There hasn't been a new seat created on a council in over seven decades."

"Times change. Just three weeks ago, dragons were extinct," Harry said, his voice flat. Freia perked up in his lap and Harry hummed, sliding his fingers along her thickening neck. "I would have two Keepers of my Dragon, Freia. She is to be well-fed and carefully handled. I trust two: Hagrid and Charlie Weasley of House Prewett."

Charlie gaped. "I would...of _course_."

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" Harry asked, conspiratorial.

Charlie nodded even as Remus leaned over to whisper in Tonks' ear, "I wouldn't use that word."

Harry glowered at him. "She is my child."

Remus leaned back, his cheeks blushing pink. "Sorry, your Grace."

"I am sure Hagrid will be up to the task, your Grace," McGonagall said with a wry twist of a smile to her face.

"I have not forgotten you, Madame," Harry said, his voice firm. "I would name you Commander of the Cavalry and you would take Ron Weasley under your wing. Teach him to hold his temper and be a wise leader as yourself."

"Hey," Ron called.

"Shut up. You need mentorship," Ginny sniped.

Harry rolled his eyes, suppressing his smile at either of them. The Madame turned a sharp gaze onto both of them and they fell silent under her judgment.

"I shall, your Grace," McGonagall said firmly.

"As Commander of the Infantry, I call up Kingsley Shacklebolt. You are a formidable warrior and leader, sir. Once I ascend the throne, I would ask you to become the Head of Aurors as well," Harry said.

The broad-shoulder black man nodded, his lips pulling into a wide smile, showing off bright white teeth. He nodded. "Yes, your Grace."

"And your Lord of Whispers, your Grace?" Fendwick asked, leaning forward.

"And the Chancellor?" Moody demanded. "Who will serve as Chancellor?"

"Patience, good men. I've arrived. You really want to know, don't you?" Harry teased, laughing. Moody and Fedwick stared at him, unamused. Harry hummed and looked around the table, his eyes falling on Tonks. "I call Lady Nymphadora Tonks of House Slytherin as my Lady of Whispers. Are you in accord, my Lady?"

Tonks' eyes glinted.

"House _Slytherin_?" McKinnon demanded.

"Dora?" Remus asked, his voice soft in its uncertainty.

The table broke into whispers again.

"I, Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of the Warden of the West, of House Slytherin, pledge my life and soul to you, your Grace. I will serve as you wish," Tonks declared.

The table was in an uproar, debating and conflicting. Even the Weasleys looked unsure of Harry's choice. Lady of Whispers was a powerful position, on par with the role of Chancellor.

"You pick _her_. She's but a common _whore_ ," Fendwick spat. He seemed to realize his words near immediately, falling back into his chair.

The room fell silent.

Harry looked at him. Freia stiffened, her neck raising, her eyes glowing.

"I wonder if Freia can breathe fire yet," Harry said, his voice soft. Fendwick shivered. Harry raised his own hand, calling the Fire, and flames danced around his fingers, threateningly. "I can. Mister Fendwick, I'm sure you can see your way out."

"You can't kick me—"

" _Füir_ ," Harry breathed and the flames exploded, swirling around his body, but leaving everything untouched and unburned. Freia reared back again, roaring in furry.

Fendwick jumped up so fast, his chair fell back with a heavy thud. He pulled his cloak tightly around him and left the room without another word. He faltered when he swung the door open and the Dark Lord stood, his eyes bright red with amusement. Fenwick sneered and pushed past him. The Dark Lord turned his eyes onto Harry.

"My King," the Dark Lord breathed as he walked into the room.

Harry smiled, holding his hand out. "My Chancellor."

"You can't _possibly_ …" Moody breathed in horror.

McGonagall's eyes widened and she shook her head, slowly, as if she couldn't believe Harry's words.

"I name the Dark Lord Voldemort of House Slytherin, Warden of the North, as my Lord Chancellor," Harry said, his voice soft. The fire died around him, settling beneath his skin, into his veins. The Dark Lord crossed to stand behind Harry and Harry smiled.

"Your Grace, the Dark Lord can't be trusted," McGonagall said, her voice hard. "He will use his position of power to manipulate you as he did to his sister before him."

Harry hummed, looking around at the terrified faces. He sighed, softly, shaking his head.

"Your Grace, House Gryffindor, and House Potter are gone. Not a single person that shares your blood is alive to support you," Remus said, earnestly, his gaze caught on the Dark Lord. His amber eyes burned with fury. "House Black is gone, as well, being called to heel with its Lord in Azkaban. All eliminated by the Dark Lord. Andromeda Slytherin won't back you either. Ever. Neither will House Crouch. That leaves House Longbottom, but they're nearly extinct. Not impossible. Not enough."

Harry stood up, suddenly, and Freia crawled up his body, settling heavily across his shoulders. Harry walked away from the Dark Lord, keeping his eyes on Remus.

"Slytherin, Gryffindor, Potter, Black, Crouch, Longbottom. They're all just spokes on a wheel. This one's on top, then that one's on top. And on and on it spins, crushing those on the ground," Harry breathed, his voice considering.

"It's a beautiful dream, stopping the wheel," Remus said in earnest. "You're not the first person who's ever dreamt it."

The Dark Lord's lips twitched into a smirk.

Harry lifted his chin and said, "I'm not going to stop the wheel. I'm going to _break_ the wheel."

 **WALL**

"I don't have to wear a veil, do I?" Gabrielle asked as she danced across the back room, searching the racks for something suitable to wear.

Fleur knew she would find something to her liking eventually. Those were the perks of being a dressmaker. There was never an absence of something to wear. Fleur turned back to look at her younger sister who was staring at her with a pout on her face.

"You should," Fleur started.

Gabrielle groaned. "Fleur! I'm not sixteen _yet_ , and my allure isn't as obvious as yours was when you were my age," she complained.

"I was _going_ to say 'no'," Fleur admonished, sharply. Her gaze softened. "But, you soon will, Gabrielle. You're beautiful as all Veela are. They will notice soon. If we wear the veil, they won't ever suspect our blood."

Gabrielle nodded absently, already bored with the lessons. She looked at the gorgeous gowns and gasped when she found the dress she wanted to wear.

"Oh, Fleur! Look at this one! It's gorgeous," Gabrielle said with a grin and she pulled the silk blue gown off of the rack, done in a popular Essetirrean style, with long floor-grazing sleeves.

Fleur flinched. She was reminded immediately of the woman from her vision. The woman of white and blue and chains. The woman on the battlefield. The blue of the dress was the exact same shade as hers. Fleur shook her head fiercely.

"No! No...I know the perfect gown for you, Gabrielle," Fleur decided and she spun around, plucking a beautifully made gown off the rack.

It was a gown that exposed her arms, a white bodice that modestly covered her and a long dove gray skirt. It was gorgeous, made for a taller woman but, Fleur could quickly hem it for Gabrielle if need be.

"It's very pretty," Gabrielle allowed, a thoughtful expression on her face. She took the dress from Fleur, running her fingers over the soft fabric and she hummed, pulling it to her chest. She couldn't help her grin. She looked up at Fleur. "We're going to the Independence Ball!"

She rushed out of the back room, unaware that Fleur wasn't smiling.

The last time someone Fleur loved went to a ball, she hadn't come back.

Fleur looked around the room, her stomach turning. What was that feeling? The last time Fleur had felt it, her parents had been murdered and she'd been 13, running her mother's dress shop and raising a nine-year-old. What was that feeling?

Ah, dread.

 **WHOM**

"What slop are you feeding her?"

Harry looked up, sharply. Freia squawked angrily, lapping at the meat soaked in brandy and chicken blood. She gnawed at it, swallowing fast and then dunked her head into the large basin, fishing for more floating bits of beef.

"Meat soaked in brandy and chicken blood. She's hungry and eats often," Harry said, annoyed.

"Do you really have time to waste, feeding your... _dragon_?" Voldemort asked. He was careful to avoid the word 'beast'. It only riled Harry up and that set the beast on edge. Harry looked at him, unimpressed.

"Yes. But, if you must know, I've appointed much of her care to Hagrid and Charlie Weasley," Harry said, snippily and Voldemort snorted as he Conjured a chair and sat down. Harry rolled his eyes, comfortable cross-legged on the hay-covered stable ground with his dog-sized dragon sitting in his lap.

"A half-oaf and a half-wit. Wonderful," Voldemort drawled.

"Charlie Weasley helped best one of your Death Eaters and Hagrid is a kind man. Shut up," Harry snapped. Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"I would cut your tongue out at the castle," Voldemort retorted.

Harry scoffed as he regarded the man. Voldemort was a handsome man but, Harry had quickly learned that he was just as insufferable. A know-it-all that liked to cast around idle threats.

"You're harmless. I could stop you," Harry hissed.

Voldemort snorted. "By seducing me into submission?"

Harry fixed Voldemort with a serious expression. Voldemort waited for his retort, eager for their banter.

"Would that work?" Harry drawled.

"You're a good lay, sweetling but, as I said, I won't sleep with you again until you want it," Voldemort said, long-suffering, as if it was a pain to admit such a thing. Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"What are you even doing here?" Harry snapped. "Anything useful?"

Voldemort had the audacity not to look even slightly offended. Instead, he looked endlessly amused by Harry's antics. It made Harry burn that even now, this man still looked at him as if he were a non-threat.

"How does it feel, to be a King?" Voldemort asked instead.

Harry lurched in surprise. He frowned, meditating on the question for a long while.

"I see what you mean. About gods and monsters. They fear me," Harry said.

"Good," Voldemort murmured. "I work to have the Warden of the West swear fealty to you. Having Afallon as an ally is good. It's the largest kingdom and is largely self-reliant."

"You've told me that," Harry drawled.

"I haven't told you all of why it's so important," Voldemort snapped. "The Warden's stronghold is Westeron. It sits on the other side of Afallon and is easily accessible by ships. I believe it would be prudent if, once you've gathered a large army, that our base is there."

"Karnaron is my homeland," Harry said, patiently as he cooed to Freia. She grew bored of her food and lumbered off, most probably to terrorize the horses through the stall doors.

"You grew up in Little Whinging."

"A large army, you say. What have you in mind?" Harry asked, swallowing his irritation. Voldemort peered down at him, with burning red eyes. Harry had the oddest feeling the man was imagining him on his knees, between his legs.

Harry flushed.

"The Death Eaters will fight for you. Most of them. The ones that do not are traitors and shall die. And we will find allies. This is why I come to you. You have a war to win," Voldemort said.

Harry knew what that meant. _You_ have a war to win, he said. This was not Voldemort's war. Harry had made it his war. Voldemort was here for revenge. He was here because Harry was his key to revenge. He couldn't let himself think that there was anything redeeming about Voldemort. The man wasn't good.

Tonks was good.

Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys were good.

Madame McGonagall was good.

Even Moody...was good, he supposed.

Harry was good.

But, Voldemort was not.

"Allies are good but, getting them will take a while, won't it? Will Draco try anything else?" Harry asked. Voldemort looked at him, carefully weighing his words.

"Battle affected him as much as it affected you," Voldemort said, rather than telling Harry that he traumatized the boy-king. "He is preoccupied with the court. He has summoned three noble Houses to court, and he has his little Muggleborn betrothed to beat."

Harry's face twisted in horror.

"He _beats_ her?" Harry demanded. He stood up, getting into Voldemort's face, standing between the man's spread legs. Voldemort leaned back in his seat, with an eyebrow raised. "And you haven't stopped him. Are you mad?"

"I have stopped him," Voldemort said, dryly. "I owed her a debt. She is the one that told me about my sister's death. She is under my protection and she has a wand. Even with my prolonged absences, she will live. She seems clever."

Harry frowned. "You have to save her. We have to save her."

Voldemort's hands brushed up Harry's thighs, settling on his waist. Harry froze in the man's hold and he settled flexing fingers on Voldemort's shoulders, looking down at the man.

"We will. I have ideas in mind, that will make the move to Westeron inevitable and necessary. One of these ideas includes the foiling of the King's wedding," Voldemort said, sharply, rubbing his thumbs against Harry's waist, the thin cloth of Harry's tunic doing nothing to shield Harry from the heat of the Dark Lord's hands.

"What do you have to teach me?" Harry breathed, biting his lower lip.

Voldemort's eyes tracked the way Harry's teeth dug into his bottom lip, making it redder and plumper.

"Diplomacy, sweetling," Voldemort murmured. "Allies and gold are the most important tools in war. I won my war by having the support of many great Houses through my Death Eaters."

"And whom would you have me ally with first? I know nothing about other countries. I don't have anything to offer but my body and, trust me, I'm not going to fuck my way into a throne," Harry said pointedly and Voldemort threw back his head, a startled laugh escaping his lips.

"You're quite funny, you know. In an idiotic way," Voldemort said. Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. "I know that you have nothing to offer. But, I do. I have knowledge and power."

Harry felt both relieved and irritated with Voldemort's hands dropped from his waist and he reached into his cloak, pulling forth a book. Harry crossed his arms.

"Conjure a chair for me, please. I don't know how yet," Harry said. Voldemort rolled his eyes and waved his wand, Conjuring another simple chair. Harry fell into it, smiling at the softness of the cushion. Harry was in awe by the casual display of magic. Magic would never cease to be wondrous to him. Magic had always been destructive when he had seen it. But, it had the potential to be something so beautiful, something to be cherished.

He leaned over the chair arm, staring at the book in Voldemort's hands.

"This book is a log of information on everyone and anyone. And here...is the country that we shall ally ourselves with first. Alfheim," Voldemort said.

Harry took a moment to admire Voldemort's penmanship. It was art, compared to Harry's disgusting scrawl. McGonagall tried to make him practice but, rarely did she have the time to enforce such lessons. There were more important things that Harry liked to do-spend time with Freia, train with Ron, or read and talk about Albion's history with Tonks.

"He was turned into a _beast_? By _who_? Who _does_ that?" Harry squeaked.

"A very beautiful enchantress, last I heard. No one speaks her name. She's a bit of a mystery though, it seems she had the oddest ideas. Beauty from within. He was a vile little boy who turned her away from the door because she liked to pretend that she was ugly. Of course, no one particularly _cares_ for ugly people. Especially, a boy-king just like Draco. Except, the brat was worse. He was only twelve."

Harry scoffed. "That sounds familiar."

Voldemort ignored him.

"I quite wonder what she looks like. Not as stunning as you, I'm sure, but quite beautiful. I only lay with pretty things you know and the pretty ones always have something to prove in bed," Voldemort drawled, only to tease and barb at Harry. Harry's lip curled.

"Ew."

Voldemort snorted.

"He has recently been changed back to a human. He found _love_ on his twenty-second birthday," Voldemort said, scoffing at the idea. Harry huffed. "It is not commonly known that the prince was a beast. To have a transformed beast as a prince would be unseemly to the kingdom and the world, at large, especially as their closest trading ally is the Gaul Republic. The Republic is quite unsafe for creatures. Now, Alfheim is a warrior country. They train their children from birth and nearly all are warriors. You must reach him before the idea occurs to Narcissa."

Harry frowned. "You mean for me to blackmail a king into helping me?"

"Blackmail and offer help. Alfheim and Albion have never been stable allies. If they help you take the throne, you will promise to help bring order to Alfheim. It hasn't exactly flourished due to the prince's...furry imprisonment," Voldemort said, snickering at the Alfheimean prince's expense.

"And how would I reach him?" Harry snapped.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "A _letter._ "

 **IS**

"Your Highness. The post has come."

Prince Cedric looked up from where his sweet wife had been reading to him. He frowned at one of his Adored Ones. Hannah Abbott's brow was furrowed as she came forward with the letter in hand. Cedric looked at his sweet Cho who looked rather affronted that she had been interrupted in her reading of the old fairy tales of Gaul. Cedric sighed.

"If you would leave it in my office as you _normally_ do…" Cedric said, kindly, with just a hint of reprimanding in his voice. He frowned when Hannah didn't even look embarrassed by his chastisement.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, your Highness. There is a seal-the seal of Gryffindor. It's from Albion," Hannah said.

There was silence and Cedric's eyes widened at the implications of Hannah's words. He glanced at Cho. She was staring in confusion, unsure. She had not been raised in politics. Of course, she would not understand. Cedric stood immediately and he crossed the room, taking the letter from Hannah's hand. He turned it over and looked at the seal.

The rearing lion roared back at him. Royal seals were tricky things, belonging only to their Houses and sealed with blood. Cedric swallowed and tore the letter open, careful not to damage the precious parchment, and information, inside.

 _To His Highness, Prince Cedric of Alfheim,_

 _In your time of self-imposed exile, I am quite sure that you have heard about what has been occurring in Albion for the past decade. There has been a brewing civil war that will soon be coming to a head. You must know by now that Queen Bellatrix is dead. However, you do not know that King Draco is in power due to Narcissa's murder of her own sister, all done in a play for power._

 _The problem remaining is that where Bellatrix was unstable, and thus manageable, Narcissa is cunning and controlled. Currently, we do not have the proper resources to go against Narcissa's scheming and her son's men, head on. This is why we come to you and ask for aid in this civil war so that I may assume my rightful place on a throne that was stolen from my family by time._

 _Your air would turn the tide of this war in my favor. The relationship between our two countries has never been strong and has altogether deteriorated due to your_ beastly _condition. With your assistance and allyship, we would strengthen and tie our countries together through the bands of war, battle, and brotherhood-three important tenets of your society. Please, come to my side with men and supplies. We do not only support a war here but, refugees-innocent men, women, and children-that could go hungry as the war rages on._

 _I thank you for your attention, as does my Chancellor. Once we receive your answer, we shall proceed on to meetings about negotiating terms._

 _Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of his Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm and Fairest of Them All_

 _Lord Voldemort of House Slytherin, Chancellor of the Albion Empire, Warden in the North_

Cedric choked on his saliva as he passed the note to Cho. He watched as she read it quickly. She looked up at him only thirty seconds later, her eyes wide. She shook her head, fiercely, her black hair swirling around her head, falling in her mouth in her haste.

"No. No, no, no," Cho chanted.

Cedric swallowed. "Cho, this isn't only about me. This is signed by this 'Harry Wildfyre' and _Voldemort_. Voldemort has switched sides in this war. If he calls to you, you don't _ignore_ know about my condition. No one else knew except the Adored Ones and they would fall on their swords for me. This King knows and is willing to exploit their knowledge for my aid in their war," Cedric pointed out. Cho's eyes welled with tears.

"No, Ced! No! This isn't your war. We've only just gotten married. No war, Cedric. Please," Cho pleaded, grabbing his hands. Cedric gently tugged his hands away and shook his head. He turned to Hannah. She was as dutiful and firm as always.

"Summon the General, Hannah. I must have words with her. She must know that we go to war," Cedric said, softly and Cho let out a shriek that would have been deafening if he were still a beast. She let out a heart-wrenching sob.

"Cedric, I can't lose you again," Cho whispered and Cedric nodded at a hesitant Hannah before turning back to his wife. He sat down on the chaise with her, tugging her into his side.

He began to kiss her tears away and she looked up at him with eyes full of sad furry. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. She didn't return it. Cedric sighed.

"Cho, my love, I am a warrior prince. War is what I was raised for and, I cannot afford to be a poor ruler. Albion is a wealthy country indeed and we are not. The war in Albion has caused unrest within other countries. It's not only about them anymore. It's about the world. It is my duty to our people to do something," Cedric said, softly and Cho sniffled rubbing the snot away from her nose on the wrist of her dress. "After I speak to the General, and fashion out a reply, I would really wish if you would consider going to Albion with me."

Cho looked up at him, outraged.

"Like if you could without me! Who would read fairy stories to you when you're stressed?" Cho demanded.

Cedric only laughed.

 **FAIREST**

Gabrielle looked up at her sister and she couldn't deny how utterly beautiful Fleur was, even with her long silver hair wrapped in sheer black silk. Wisps of hair showed around her face, giving her a glow. The long black gown was conservative, buttoned up to her neck with golden epaulets and military buttons but, even still. Gabrielle recognized the earrings dangling from her ears. Their mother's, just like the cord that Gabrielle wore around her own neck.

It was a simple chord that led down into her modest cleavage. Gabrielle ignored their stares. Not all were disdainful. Some were lustful, others judgmental. But, she didn't care for any of them. Her eyes searched for the man that had requested her company. She smoothed her dove gray skirts and tilted her head in curiosity when a handsome young man caught her eye.

He was in a group of other young men, all with glasses of wine, tucked into beautiful robes and doublets, though none so beautiful as the garments that Fleur crafted. The young man was staring at Gabrielle with more than a passing interest and he murmured to his friends who all watched the Delacour sisters. Fleur laughed.

"Is that him? He's quite handsome," Fleur teased under her breath. "Though, I like my men with a more roguish air. Nothing so dapper."

"Shut up, Fleur. No. That isn't him," Gabrielle grumbled as she looked at the young man again.

Gabrielle sighed. The young man's attention was lost. Fleur shrugged at her sister's grievances and jerked, straightening. A tall, lavishly dressed woman approached the pair. She was tall, too tall to be human, yet she was obviously amongst the wealthy.

"Hello young ones," the woman greeted.

"Hello," the Delacour sisters said in greeting.

"I am the Duchess Olympe Maxime. I couldn't help but notice that I do not recognize either of you," the woman said, quite grandly, sweeping a large hand over the room. "I do wonder how you came to find yourselves here without any obvious invitation."

There was a hint of distaste in her voice. Gabrielle flushed even as Fleur looked up at the woman, perfectly secure. People were staring again, curious and irritated and excited. Gabrielle could see Brigitte Godard in the middle of a clash of girls, gossiping. She was probably telling them all that Fleur and Gabrielle were her dressmakers that fancied themselves 'above their station'. Fleur snorted in disdain even as Gabrielle trembled against her side in humiliation.

It was fine. Fleur would be proud enough for both of them.

"Don't you worry about them, Olympe. They're my honored guests."

The growling voice sent shivers down Fleur's spine. As she got a proper look at the speaker, her eyes widened in horror.

Fenrir Greyback was a broad-shouldered man with a feral smile, lips pulled back over sharp, yellowing teeth. His dark hair was slicked back but, Fleur could see a thick streak of gray. He was dressed in fine clothing, silver robes and well-made leather trousers and a finely weaved tunic, but that didn't hide the animalistic fever in his amber eyes. She could see it in the way he looked at her _little sister_.

The Delacour sisters were the prey and this man was the predator.

"Mr. Greyback!" Gabrielle said, cheerfully.

"Ah, Miss Gabrielle, I thank you for allowing me the pleasure of your company this evening," Greyback said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Gabrielle laughed.

"I thought I told you. Just Gabrielle."

"Well, my apologies, _just_ Gabrielle, but I thought I told _you_. It's Fenrir. Not so hard to say," Greyback said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Fenrir," Gabrielle repeated, her voice breathy as her lips wrapped around the name. Fleur nearly trembled in horror. "Fenrir, this is my older sister, Fleur."

Fleur moved, her expression severe. She met Greyback's fearsome eyes.

"Mr. Greyback," Fleur said, coldly.

Fenrir nodded. "A pleasure, Miss Delacour," he said before turning back to Gabrielle. "Will you dance with me, pretty girl?"

Fleur blanched at the pet name and her fists clenched as Gabrielle nodded. She watched the man escort her little sister to the dance floor. Fleur melted away, removing herself from the watchful eyes of the Ball attendants. Greyback waltzed her sister across the floor, dipping her and twirling her. Gabrielle threw back her head and laughed. Fleur felt like weeping.

Gabrielle had always had her head in too many books, just like Hermione. Unlike Hermione, she wasn't jaded by circumstances nor did she really have the best head on her.

"He is quite taken with her, it seems." Brigitte Godard's nasal voice snaked its way into Fleur's ear. Fleur stiffened. She was surrounded by her best customer and her sycophants. "I hadn't believed it but, I suppose it's true. He _did_ invite you both."

"Mr. Greyback is such an... _interesting_ man," another girl said.

They broke into titters and Fleur raised her chin.

"How do you mean?" she drawled.

Greyback had pulled Gabrielle close, was whispering in her ear and she was laughing, nodding excitedly, her lips shaping around her words. Fleur wondered what they spoke about. Albion? That's what made Gabrielle the most excited.

"Mr. Greyback has been married six times, Miss Delacour," Brigitte murmured from behind her fan. She leaned in and her sycophants followed her lead. "And after every marriage, six months later, his wife falls ill and dies."

Fleur stiffened.

"Potions? Poisons?" Fleur demanded.

"Oh, nothing like that. They honestly fall ill," a slight blonde girl said, earnestly. "It's such a shame. Mr. Greyback deserves happiness, doesn't he? And he looks far happier with her than he did with anyone else. What's her name again?"

"Gabrielle," Fleur whispered, her voice trembling as the dance came to an end, and Greyback stepped back, bowing to Gabrielle.

Fleur prayed that Gabrielle would come back to her. It wouldn't be proper for her to dance with him another time in a row.

And yet, Greyback offered his hand again and Gabrielle took it.

 **OF**

"Your Grace!" Hermione yelped, swallowing hard.

She turned around, clapping her hands to her face. She couldn't unsee it. Pansy's naked body, lounging on Draco's bedspread. Draco's cock in her hand as she slowly jerked him, smearing oil and ejaculate up and down his shaft. He was larger than Hermione had expected. It did not bode well for her. She shivered.

"Your Grace, I thought you Summoned me," Hermione rasped.

Pansy let out a shrieking laugh that was silenced by the sticky sounds of kissing. Hermione felt a chill run up her spine as she heard the sucking and spit.

"I did. Turn around, my love," Draco drawled. Hermione turned back around, keeping her eyes trained on the ground. Draco hummed. "Come now, you must have seen a cock before. Soon, this cock will put a child in you."

"Your Grace, is there something I can assist you with?" Hermione rasped. She was trembling. She imagined that Draco and Pansy thought she was trembling out of fear.

Instead, she shook with rage.

"Look at me!" Draco roared.

Hermione looked up, sharply. Pansy was in his lap now, slowly sliding up and down his cock, soft little moans escaping her parted lips. The Lady Parkinson was glancing over her shoulder, her thin lips pulled into a smug smile. Hermione kept her face still as stone.

"How long must I look?" Hermione asked.

"Ugh...as long as it pleases me," Draco said, punctuating his words with thrusts. Pansy's back arched and let out a cry, moaning and nipping at Draco's neck. Draco groaned and pushed Pansy off his body. She laughed, rolling onto her back, panting softly as she brought her fingers between her folds. Hermione's lips twitched into a sneer.

Draco continued to pull and twist at his cock, staring darkly at Hermione.

"Your Grace, is there a reason you summoned me?" Hermione asked.

"I'd like to tell you about the battle. Sit. And watch," Draco said and he arched his back, letting out a low groan. "Pansy, here."

Pansy rolled over onto her stomach and crawled forward, running her tongue up Draco's cock, wrapping her lips around the head. Hermione swallowed hard, stiffening against her humiliation. She felt her wand against the wand. If only she knew the Killing Curse.

"Your Grace," Hermione said as she sat and watched Lady Parkinson suck her betrothed's cock.

Draco groaned. "He burned them all. The Fairest. Burned my men. Burned the village. He was beautiful, Lady Granger. Beautiful," he said. Hermione lurched. It was the first time that he had said her name in such a long time. "White skin, the color of snow. Red lips, the color of blood...red is my favorite color, you know. Ebony hair, the color of night. Bright eyes, the color of emeralds. The Fairest of Them All...a rightfully deserved title."

Hermione stopped herself from flinching as Draco thrust up into Pansy's mouth and the girl gagged on it. Draco moaned, quietly to himself.

"Such a beautiful...beautiful man. I imagined him in my bed. Tied up. Blood streaking his porcelain skin. Welts the shape of my hand on his ass, his thighs. I would have him die in my bed, slick with blood and my cum," Draco said softly.

"Is that so, your Grace?" Hermione asked coldly.

Draco groaned as he grabbed Pansy by her hair and pulled her off. He jerked his cock once, twice and splattered his cum on Pansy's face. Pansy threw her head back and laughed.

"Thank you...your Grace," she purred.

Draco laughed.

"But, it isn't fair that only I see his beauty. I'll tell you what. I'll tell you your wedding present," Draco said, leaning forward with unnaturally bright gray eyes. "After I raise my armies, and kill the Pretender, the Fairest, I'm going to serve his head to you on a dinner plate."

Hermione couldn't help her next words.

"Or maybe he'll give me yours," she rasped.

Pansy gasped, diving under the sheets. Draco jumped up immediately, pulling his wand and Hermione leaned back in her chair, waiting. She lifted her chin, challenging him. Draco paused, the end of his wand glowing red.

"I cannot bruise you or cut you. My Uncle will know," Draco growled.

Hermione said nothing.

"Go. I will see you in court," Draco snarled.

Hermione stood and turned on her heel, exiting. Her lips twitched into a smug smile.

So, this was what victory tasted like.

 **THEM**

"Your Highnesses."

Prince Cedric looked up at the battle-hardened general that leaned against his doorframe. She was calm, as per usual. She had been his rock of peace in the turmoil his life had been until Cho had come to him.

Cedric leaned back in his chair, crossing on leg over the other as General Amelia Bones entered the room. She pulled her white robes tighter to her, battling the chill of the room. Her robes spoke of her status as one of the most powerful warriors in all of Alfheim. White, for she never had to worry about her own blood staining them. Cedric could only remember his father as having white robes, when he had been alive.

"Madame-General," Cedric greeted, calmly, his lips twitching into a smile. The older woman smiled back. She gave a short bow before she crossed the room and sat at the seat across from his.

Cho continued to stare out the window, her cloak wrapped tight around her.

"What is it that you need of me, your Highness? You are still doing...well?" Madame-General Bones asked, cordially. It had only been a year since he had returned to himself.

It had been...rough, in a word.

"I'm fine. Cho is fine," Cedric said. Cho scoffed and Cedric flushed. "I come to you...with a request. Please, read this."

He handed her the many-times over handled piece of parchment. He watched anxiously as Bones read the letter, once twice, then thrice. Her expression didn't vary exactly but, with each read, she looked more and more serious. If that was possible. Just as Cedric couldn't take the overbearing silence any longer, Madame Bones looked up from the parchment and placed it on the desk with a heavy side.

"We will go to their aide?" Madame Bones asked.

Cedric sighed.

"How can I not? They threaten me with secrets and violence and once this 'Harry Wildfyre' takes the throne, possible war. We cannot survive without trade from Albion nor can we survive a war," Cedric said, softly and he cleared his throat. "It is in the best interest of the country."

Madame Bones nodded in agreement and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"How are we even sure if it's the true 'Harry Wildfyre' or whatever? Why must we be drawn into _his_ war?" Cho demanded angrily.

"Princess, a seal of Gryffindor may only be used by a Gryffindor as all royal seals," Madame Bones said, patiently. "I understand your trepidation but, no one can find out about the Prince's former state. Especially the Gaul Republic. We rely on them for trade of many important potions ingredients and we have only three wandmakers in all of the country. It's important."

Cho huffed, looking away.

"And...the Dark Lord Voldemort aids the Prince of Gryffindor. We cannot say _no_ to him," Cedric said.

He had never had the displeasure of meeting the Dark Lord Voldemort but Madame Bones had, once upon a time. When she was young, she had met the Dark Lord and had dueled him. She had lost her white robes that day and had had to gain them back.

"He would end the Slytherins reign. We can spare three-quarters of the army. We have the ships. They aren't war ships but we'll land in Albion, all the same. I will lead them," Madame Bones decided. Cedric ignored Cho's sigh of relief. This woman was his teacher, his mentor, his friend, his advisor, and his adopted mother all in one.

"Amelia...I have never asked more than I am about to," Cedric said, softly. Madame Bones frowned as Cedric took the circlet off the top of his head and placed it on the desk before him.

"Cedric?" Madame Bones asked, dropping titles and etiquette.

"I will go personally to negotiate our aid with the Prince of Gryffindor. That is my wish," Cedric said, softly, and Madame Bones' dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown.

"But...your bride...she is not ready to rule without you here…"

"I'll be going with him," Cho said, firmly. Cedric opened his mouth to argue. Cho gave him a look that made him fall silent. "We'll take the Adored Ones and then we will send word back to you at the end of negotiations."

Cedric nodded. "I ask _you_ to rule in my name, as Princess Regent. You have guided me through life when I had no other, when I was nothing but a beast. Will you do this for me?"

An overbearing silence filled the room and for the first time in Cedric's life, he saw the woman overwhelmed with shock. Nothing shocked Amelia. She was like stone-too strong, too steady, too amazing to be shocked. Only shocking. Yet, this request had dumbfounded her.

"Your Highness...Cedric...I…"

"Please, Amelia."

Madame-General Bones lifted her gloved hands and slowly pulled the soft leather away. She took up the circlet with strong, scarred fingers. She examined the gold with a frown, turning it this way and that. She looked into Cedric's dark, pleading eyes and hummed.

She ran an army but, a country and an army were two very different things.

"Of course," Amelia whispered and Cedric's lips curled into a wide smile.

"Then, in my absence, I hereby declare you, as Her Royal Highness, Princess Regent Amelia of House Bones."

 **ALL?**

Blaise was a patient man. He considered it one of his best traits. He was a patient man and cautious, and handsome. His looks made people underestimate him. The fact that he was foreign made people underestimate him. After all, Severus Snape had underestimated him and now, Blaise had taken his place as the Lord of Whispers on King Draco's Council.

Blaise could be patient.

He waited, silently, as Draco played his lute, his eyes closed and neck bent. The King played beautiful, long fingers plucking and jerking at the strings. Blaise wondered if anyone had heard the King's voice as he sang old tales. They were all songs that Blaise had never heard, tales of Founders and Tabooed and battle and blood.

Draco paused as he struck a sour note.

"Your Grace?" Blaise asked.

Draco took a deep breath through his nose. He looked at the council table, the flat map of Albion sitting in the curve of the crescent-shaped table. The seal of the Aurors was tipped over where Little Hangleton had been.

"Gregory Goyle was a childhood friend. I didn't have many friends as a child," Draco said, slowly. "My mother was careful about my friends. She didn't want people taking advantage. I've always known that I'd be King. I had Greg and Lord Vincent of House Crabbe, and Lady Pansy."

"And you lost him. One of your friends," Blaise said, gently.

Draco began to play again, humming softly to himself. Blaise allowed Draco his silence. Blaise allowed Draco many things. He allowed him to think he had control over his empire. He allowed him to torment his stepsister. And how he relished in that smug know-it-all bitch to be taken down a peg.

As if she were above Blaise and his mother, morally correct and full of rage, tossing blame here and there and everywhere. As if Blaise hadn't suffered, watching his fathers die one after another, consumed by their mother's greed, for Lady Zabini was both their mother. Hermione could pretend all she wanted but, she was just _like_ their mother.

"Sometimes, I wish I was but a child again. What an ugly, ugly throne, Blaise," Draco whispered and he cleared his throat, closing his eyes. Still, he played. "Did you think him beautiful?"

Blaise frowned. The Fairest.

He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone uglier. Full of fire and fury and power that was not Blaise's. A fair face but all that power and no idea how to harness terribly _ugly_.

"Yes, your Grace."

How ugly. The way fire turned the world to ashes. Bright green eyes full of fury. How he had promised a war. Blaise had not signed up for a war. Not death. But, he would fight it.

"He promised me death. I am afraid to die," Draco said. "I don't want to die like Greg."

Blaise hummed. "I won't allow it, your Grace."

The way the Pretender had buried his sword into Greg and ripped it out. A massacre. How fucking ugly. With his pretty lips and his bright green eyes, his pale skin striped with ash, his lithe body rippling with fury.

 _I will burn your world to ashes. And then, you have my permission to die._

 _:::_

 **A/N:** I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I loved writing it. This is getting really exciting for me. Harry is becoming a badass. Also, the last scene was written so that I could actually humanize Draco. Someone left a comment that spoke about how it was easy to hate him because he didn't have much depth like the other characters. This was me trying to add depth to him. I think I'll add more sections about Draco. He's an interesting character to write because he's a terrible person but, there are things that make him like us-for example, he's a musician.

Anyway, y'all didn't really comment last chapter and I'd appreciate your thoughts. They drive me. SO PLEASE REVIEW.


	19. Chapter Fifteen

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Fifteen

"My sweet, we come bearing gifts!" Harry grunted as he stumbled into the paddock, his fingers buried in rough wool that scratched at his calloused fingers. Freia let out a greeting screech. Harry smiled widely at her.

Freia was larger now. At a month, she was the size of a large pony. After Harry had begun feeding her properly, then she had sprouted up, growing so fast that Harry could hardly believe it.

"She's enormous," Tonks observed with a grunt as they dragged the sheep carcass into the paddock.

Harry hummed with a tiny smile and he groaned when they finally let the enormous sheep go, letting it fall to the ground with a thump. He paused. "Why didn't we use magic?" he rasped.

Tonks snorted.

"Because we're idiots, taste buds," Tonks said.

Harry let out a long laugh and he held out his wand. " _Wingardium Leviosa_." He watched as the sheep corpse floated into the middle of the paddock before he directed it to lay just in front of Freia. Freia butted her head against it, making it roll over and she hissed.

Fawkes sat on the fence of the paddock, watching curiously. Harry was glad that Freia was still too young to really want to antagonize Fawkes. His mother's phoenix lent comfort to him sometimes though, in all truth, Fawkes had been gone longer and longer each time he disappeared.

"Where's my stupid uncle?" Tonks asked, curiously. "He hasn't been back in some time."

"He doesn't come back unless he has something for me. That's the rule," Harry said, patiently, never taking his eyes off of Freia. His stomach fluttered as he thought about Voldemort- _Tom._

"Why do you have a rule?" Tonks asked.

Harry didn't answer straight away. He always wanted to be honest with Tonks, and he needed to know the truth. In truth, the rules weren't for Tom. The rulers were for himself. Harry needed rules now. Good men didn't need rules and Harry had learned that he wasn't a good man. Good men didn't win thrones. Good men died and Harry was not in the business of dying. He wouldn't lose himself to his emotions and his wants. Merlin, he still wanted. Harry _wanted_.

"Because I want to kiss him," Harry murmured as they watched Freia moved around the carcass, inspecting with little flicks of her tongue. She was sniffing at it, wondering why it was raw, most probably. Harry cleared his throat, slowly looking at Tonks.

She looked thoughtful, not angry like he'd been afraid of.

"Do you know why?" Tonks asked, her voice soft.

Harry swallowed. "No...he's not a nice man. But, I am greedy, Tonks."

"You aren't," Tonks defended, firmly, taking a step closer to his side. She bumped her shoulder against his and he bumped back, a slight smile on his face.

"I am. I asked him to fuck me again. He said no. Said he wouldn't until I wanted him," Harry said and cleared his throat as Tonks looked at him in surprise.

"He said _no_?" Tonks demanded. She paused. "Voldemort is greedy and he said _no_."

"He said no," Harry said, softly. "Tom is...a complicated man."

"What do you call him?" Tonks barked.

"His name," Harry said firmly. He looked at Tonks in such a way that Tonks didn't push it, only nodding. She looked back towards Freia, curiously. Harry cleared his throat and took a step forward. "Freia."

Freia looked up, sharply, her eyes trained on him.

" _Füir,_ " Harry said, lifting up his hand and calling the fire. "Tonks cast the Fire-making Spell, please."

Tonks pulled her wand, wordlessly casting _Incendio_.

Freia shrieked at the flames. Harry hummed.

" _Füir,_ Freia. _Füir_ ," he said, calmly.

Freia let out a long plume of smoke, spitting angrily. Harry nodded, smiling encouragingly. Freia looked up at him, her eyes trained on the flames. She let out a great huff, and a plume of fire erupted. The sheep caught on fire, the wool exploding into flames. Harry clapped, wildly.

"Yes! Just like that!" Harry laughed.

The smell of cooked meat made his mouth water. Freia's head darted forward, and her large glistening teeth tore into the corpse greedily.

"She'll be able to feed herself. Cook her food," Tonks said, approvingly as she extinguished her flames, watching happily as Freia ate.

"Yes. She must know fire. Like I do," Harry said and he slowly approached Freia. Freia looked up, shrieking madly before pausing and coiling back when she saw it was only Harry.

Harry brushed his fingers against Freia's side, kissing the scales around her eye, ignoring the blood dripping from her maw, the strings of flesh caught between her teeth. Tonks watched, vaguely impressed.

"You love her. Like she is your child. Like I love Teddy," Tonks said.

Harry nodded. "Of course, I do," Harry whispered, pulling back. Freia shrieked again, her head tilted to the sky and Harry frowned, looking up.

Tonks' eyes tracked the fast flying birds. "Falcon," she called.

Harry watched as the falcon dove straight for the paddock, and landed on his outstretched arm, long talons digging into the soft leather of his jacket. Harry frowned as he took the parchment tied to the bird's leg. The falcon eyed Freia dangerously as Freia crept forward, curious.

" _Dar_ , Freia," Harry snapped, as he opened the letter. The falcon screeched and took off from his shoulder, avoiding Freia's snapping teeth. Harry grunted when Freia's heavy head collided with his shoulder. He staggered back, nearly thrown off his feet.

"Harry!" Tonks called, darting forward.

"Freia," Harry barked, staring at the dragon. Freia shrieked at him and pulled back, going back to her food again. Harry sighed, shaking his head. "And like a child, she must be disciplined."

Tonks laughed, uneasily, as Harry opened the letter, his eyes going over the finely curved letters on the parchment. "What...who is it from?"

Harry passed her the envelope without look up from the letter. Tonks turned it over and her eyes widened on the seal from Alfheim.

"You are looking to ally with Alfheim? A good choice. They are _strong_ warriors. Their entire government is based upon who is the strongest," Tonks said, looking at him with approval in her eyes. Harry looked up, a flush on his cheeks.

"Er...it was Tom's idea. I'm just...I have no idea what I'm doing," Harry confessed, laughing nervously. Tonks snorted.

"You give off the impression that you do," Tonks said.

"I'm a reckless idiot. You Slytherins are the brains of everything I do," Harry insisted.

Tonks shook her head. "You underestimate yourself, your Grace."

"Tonks. Really? 'Your Grace'?" Harry sighed, shaking his head. Tonks grinned at him, wolfishly. Harry sighed and looked at Tonks. "I _really_ wish your uncle was here now. Prince Cedric has responded. He intends to come with his personal guard to negotiate before he promises anything to me. He can't land in Karnaron. The coasts are all watched and we're too far inland."

"A Portkey?" Tonks suggested.

"It's too risky. It could be intercepted. The magical trace is so strong even a child could sense it. _I_ would sense it," Harry said, pointedly and he stowed the letter inside of his jacket. "We need a place to treat."

Tonks bit her bottom lip.

"I think I know why Voldemort wants my mother to bend the knee to you," Tonks said, slowly.

"Because Afallon is the biggest country in the empire?" Harry suggested.

Tonks hummed. "Not only that….Westeron, the stronghold, is on the Western coast. Right across the ocean from Alfheim."

 **MIRROR**

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

" _EXPELLIARMUS!_ " Harry countered. He spun away, dodging the bright green light with laughter. The world was on fire, the flames twisting and turning to his will. The windmill burned in the background, casting his face into something otherworldly.

"Finish him!" Ginny roared.

Harry hissed in agreement and plunged his sword into the soldier's belly and ripped it out, disemboweling him. Blood splattered across his cheeks and Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing heavily as he looked around.

The outpost was nothing but flames and stone. Soon, it would be nothing but ashes. The slain men littered the ground like toy soldiers, the kind of toys that Harry had always seen Dudley play at. Harry had never had any toys himself.

"Is it over?" Harry asked.

Ron groaned, swinging his war hammer over his head and bringing it down. A soldier's head cracked open with a soft pop, and brain matter and blood oozed out like an egg yolk. Harry turned away from it, willing the bile turning in his belly to still. It was fine. He would be fine.

"Almost," Ron said, reaching into his jerkin. He pulled out a balled up red cloth. He flipped his wrists, loosening the ball.

Harry's mouth went dry. He stared at the golden lion, rearing on its hind paws. The crimson fabric, red like how he imagined his mother's hair was. Harry reached out, running his hand over the crest of House Gryffindor.

"Let the world know," Ron urged.

Harry looked over at Ginny. Her eyes were hard. Harry turned away and lifted his wand. " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," he murmured, levitating the banner to the burning ruins of the windmill. With his other hand, he called the flames away, and they drifted around him, enveloping him as if he were an old friend. " _Epoximise_."

The Sticking Charm held and the banner waved against the burnt husk of the wall.

"They will know that we came. That we conquered!" Harry roared, throwing a fist into the air.

His soldiers roared back.

Harry was still in his triumph, his lips pulled into a wide grin. _Victory_.

 **MIRROR**

"Welcome Lord Crouch to the king's council," Narcissa said as she entered the Council Tower, arm in arm with Lord Bartemius Crouch.

Voldemort had never cared for Lord Crouch. He was short and dismissive and underestimated his son far too much. And he had staunch morals that conflicted quite strong with Voldemort's. It was never a good day when Lord Crouch and the Dark Lord Voldemort were in close quarters. This was one of those days.

"Narcissa," Voldemort said. It was all that needed to be said. He never had to ask questions of her. She'd explain herself.

"Lord Crouch has been added to the Council in the position of Master of Wisdom," Narcissa said, coolly before she turned back to Lord Crouch, smiling softly at him as she guided him to the seat at the end of the table.

"I...see," Voldemort drawled. "Very well."

Enemies abound.

"I call this council meeting to order," Draco said, firmly. He leaned forward, looking around the table, and then he paused when he stared at Dolohov. "I've called this meeting because Lord Dolohov has approached me with a plan to gain a better handle on the Pretender situation. We will not have this boy, that claims to be the Prince of Gryffindor, question our reign."

Voldemort paused. Draco was using the royal 'wegray It was reminiscent of his dead sister. A sister that he tried not to think about.

Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose as Dolohov began his long convoluted military plan. The more he talked, the more Voldemort's headache grew between his eyes. It all sounded like expense and excess. Coin and more coin that they did not have. Coin that could, theoretically, be borrowed from Gringotts but, Voldemort had plans for the goblins and they did not involve his brat of a nephew.

The council meeting was made even worse as Dolohov began speaking on the 'growing responsibilities of generals' and their 'insight on governing issues'. A weak play for power. Voldemort wondered what had made him mark Dolohov as his own. It was ridiculous. It was all so-

"Shut up, Antonin. You sound ridiculous."

The man fell silent immediately. Voldemort looked around the table, at all of the unfamiliar, untrustworthy faces. Crabbe. MacNair. Nott. Zabini. And his sister. Narcissa. Draco stared back at him, wrapped in furs with dark circles under his eyes. That air of grimness, from that night, still hadn't disappeared. Voldemort didn't think they ever would.

"Why did you stop him?" Narcissa asked, sharply. Voldemort looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Employing three-quarters of our forces South based on a _hunch_ is a stupid idea. You put too much faith and power in him, sister. He imagines a stratocracy. We are a monarchy," Voldemort retorted.

Narcissa _scoffed_. "A monarchy that is failing due to poor ruling. Change is imminent," Narcissa said, coldly.

"My Lord, a stratocracy is not advisable but-" Dolohov started, attempting to appeal to his formed Lord. The Dark Lord rolled his eyes.

"What say you, Lord Crouch? As Master of Wisdom, do you think this is financially feasible?" Voldemort demanded.

"We're a wealthy country indeed, but we don't have a war fund yet for such an endeavor. I've read the previous tax proposal. With a few tweaks, this could be a major piece of legislation that could turn the tide of this war before it truly begins," Lord Crouch said.

Voldemort scoffed, shaking his head. "The war has already _begun_. The Pretender burned down a village."

Draco still hadn't said a word, his eyes tracking each Lord, as if he were truly listening to their council. That didn't bode well for Voldemort.

"The war has begun. So have our plans," Narcissa said, shortly.

Draco slowly sat up in his chair, looking around the table. "From the time before our predecessors, our foreign policy has been weak," Draco began. "The Tabooed, the Founders, and my Aunt Bellatrix. All so concerned with domestic issues when the world grows larger every day. I have found a way to further our allyship with the Gaul Republic."

He sounded like a king. He sounded careful. And unpracticed. Narcissa looked at her son, gleefully pleased. Voldemort cleared his throat, watching the boy carefully. Perhaps, he was a snake after all. In another life, Voldemort might've been _proud._

"We're in the middle of a civil war. There is no greater time for allies. The Gaul Republic has long had a sense of hesitation due to the way we let our creatures roam freely. No more," Draco said, firmly. "While my uncle was away, I began a project that has reached the final stages of testing. We have many soldiers. Soldiers are expensive. They must be fed, clothed, and paid. Slaves need only food and armor. I have captured several colonies of creatures and they have been trained as soldiers. Those that do not serve are sold domestically and internationally, generating enough income for a war fund and supplements the economy in a way that hasn't been seen since the Founders."

There were Narcissa's words, wormed in there. So, it had been Draco's plan but Narcissa's fingerprints were all over, carefully sculpting it into the masterpiece that it was, carefully worded to generate agreement.

"You would sell _people_? Slaves?" Voldemort hissed, dangerously.

"Oh, so evil has standards, brother?" Narcissa retorted.

Voldemort's eyes flashed. "You would call me 'evil', _sister_?" Voldemort snarled.

"I think it is evil to veto ideas that benefit an empire that will slowly starve due to the fact that we're in the middle of a damn civil war!" Narcissa roared, slamming her hands on the table. And just like that, diamond shattered in the inferno. "We have people. Wizarding _humans_ that are dying at the hands of that little bitch with fire. Have you nothing about them? Their families?"

Voldemort felt her fury. It made his lips curl into a mocking smile. How Slytherin of her, citing families and magic and pride as if she gave a damn about anything but the power of the Gilded Throne. The Throne that had _nearly_ been hers.

"And how do you propose we end it? How do you propose that we fix this, Narcissa?" Voldemort snarled.

Narcissa sneered. "With _blood._ "

 **ON**

Daphne and Hermione walked along the orchards, arm-in-arm, staring up at the low-hanging fruits, amongst the servants that were picking apples and lemons for the desserts.

"Have you been invited to court yet, Lady Greengrass?" Hermione asked, softly. She refused to sound too desperate, too eager, even if Daphne's presence would make everything a little less unbearable. Hermione could barely look at Pansy without remembering what her mouth looked like, wrapped around Draco's cock.

"Not yet. I expect soon. The King and his family so do like to humiliate the Longbottoms," Daphne said, her voice so purposely light that Hermione nearly missed the hidden barb in her voice.

"How do you mean?" Hermione asked, gently.

Daphne looked at Hermione from the corner of her eye, regarding her with a hint of suspicion. Hermione stared back at her, lifting her chin. Daphne cleared her throat.

"Neville was raised by Grandmother," Daphne said, gently. "His parents, his grandfather, his uncles and aunts, and cousins were...murdered. By House Crouch, under Narcissa's orders. The great House Longbottom is nearly extinct."

Hermione's hand flew towards her mouth as she tried to smother her gasp.

"How... _why_?" Hermione blurted out.

Daphne hummed. "I forget that you are not of Albion. Neither am I," Daphne said, her voice soft. She cleared her throat and looked up. "When the Slytherins first came to power, there was unrest. I became the late Lord Longbottom's ward during the unrest. There were those resistant to the Slytherins, seeing them as usurpers from the rightful Queen-Empress, the late Lily Gryffindor. House Longbottom was a house of resistance."

Hermione nodded, processing the information. She glanced over her shoulder. Luna waited, patiently, at the edges of the orchards. Her eyes were trained on the Death Eaters, watching Lord Lestrange drill them, Lord Voldemort standing next to him with a cold look on his face. Hermione tore her eyes away, looking back at Daphne.

"Then...how did they...die?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She could hear the wind howling against the barrier. The sky was blue just above Hogwarts but, outside, the clouds were gray. Winter was here.

"Lord and Lady Longbottom believed that Lily Gryffindor had a successor and they rebelled against Narcissa, rallying their vassals. House Crouch was one of their vassals. During the feast, while Lord Longbottom gave a rallying cry, Bartemius Crouch stabbed him in the back and it began. They massacred them and when it was all over, the doors open, and there stood Narcissa Slytherin," Daphne said, softly. She sounded so far away, her gaze glossed over.

Hermione shivered. She could imagine it. Narcissa with her cold blue eyes, wand in hand, sword in the other. The woman was _evil_. "Then?" Hermione whispered.

"Then, Narcissa Slytherin lifted her crossbow and shot Lady Longbottom through the throat. And she...tortured her into insanity. Neville and I...we _watched_ ," Daphne said, her voice cracking, and she turned her head away, shaking herself roughly. When she finally looked at Hermione again, her eyes were glossed over with unspilled tears. "And when Narcissa finally killed her, she turned to us, and Grandmother, and said, 'They will write songs about this night. Don't cry, little fish. They will write songs about you, as they have written songs about me. Do not cry, little fish. Tears are blood, ill-spilled'."

Hermione swallowed her terror and Daphne stopped, leaning heavily against the trunk of a tree. Her eyes were hard as she looked up at Hogwarts Castle, a symbol of the people that had destroyed her family.

"Did they write songs?" Hermione asked.

Daphne laughed, long and hard. "Yes. at is why I don't want to go to court. I do not want to hear the songs. _'They twirled round and round in rain or shine, Their magic was used to break will and spines'._ How horrifying," Daphne hissed.

Hermione swallowed hard. "What song is that?" Hermione asked.

"It doesn't matter," Daphne said, shortly. She turned to Hermione, reaching for her hands and pulling her close enough that Hermione tilted her head back to focus on her face. "Do not speak of this, Hermione. I do not want you to be hurt. You are too kind for this family and one day, the people will rise against them. After all, Lord Longbottom was right, and there is a war going on, out there."

Daphne pointed past the gates and Hermione nodded as Daphne pulled away.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked Daphne stumbled backward.

"I am tired. Goodbye, Hermione," Daphne said, warily. She paused and leaned forward, pecking Hermione on the lips before she twisted between the trees and walked away, her long skirts dragging behind her. Hermione blinked wildly.

" _The Children_."

Hermione shrieked, pulling her wand. Luna didn't react, her eyes crossing as she stared at the point of Hermione's wand. Hermione stowed her wand away, quickly, flushing as the Death Eaters turned to stare at her with disdain. Voldemort rolled his eyes and Rodolphus raised an eyebrow. Barty Crouch was laughing behind his hand, leaning into a stocky woman with sloping shoulders, red hair pulled back into a severe bun and blue-gray eyes. Hermione looked away, cheeks red.

"Alecto Carrow and Barty Crouch. Interesting," Luna said, dreamily. She turned her gaze back to Hermione, eyes sharp. "The song is called _The Children._ It is a prophecy. Sung by the bardess Celestina Warbeck.

 _Blood is all, blood is none._

 _And in Death, it shall be undone._

 _But in a world where monsters reign_

 _There is one that shall be their Bane_."

Hermione stared at Luna for a long time, waiting for her to explain herself. But, this was Luna, and she never would. Instead, she stared back at Hermione, impassively, as if waiting for her to speak. Hermione cleared his throat, awkwardly and cracked her neck, sighing.

"She told me all of that for a reason. I think that House Longbottom isn't here to play nice," Hermione said, softly.

Luna hummed. "They are here to rebel?"

"Lady Augusta Longbottom seems like a woman with a long memory."

"As are the Slytherins," Luna said. She looked at Hermione, eyes wide with warning. "Be careful, Hermione Granger. There's a war going on, out there."

 **THE WALL**

"What have you done, you stupid boy?" Voldemort hissed as he stormed into the meeting room

Harry sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his Council. He looked coolly at Voldemort. Voldemort took a moment to regard the sizeable dragon that sat to Harry's side, Freia's large head resting in Harry's lap.

"I destroyed an outpost. An important outpost for Draco's troops," Harry said, plainly.

"An outpost that provides food for the villages _surrounding_ it. It was unnecessary to destroy it. You should've taken it. Conquered it," Voldemort said, sharply. He stared at Harry with narrowed eyes, shaking his head.

"I did. The banner of House Gryffindor waves," Harry said, nearly innocent and he looked back at Freia who shrieked. She was nearly too large for the room.

Soon, Harry wouldn't be able to use his dragon to intimidate.

"And so, the common people know that you know how to raze towers to the ground and destroy. Wonderful," Voldemort said, mockingly.

"May I remind you, _Tom_ , we're at war," Harry spat.

The room froze. Madame McGonagall twitched at the Dark Lord's trueborn name as the Weasleys looked to each other in confusion, too young to know the meaning behind the name. Voldemort regarded the Prince of Gryffindor for a long moment. Harry stared right back, refusing to back down.

"You are stubborn and bullheaded, and you will get everyone killed," Voldemort snarled.

Harry scoffed. "I'm not going to stand by and do nothing. I destroyed an outpost. Draco knows that I live to take his throne. He should be pissing his bed in fear."

"You are meant to be a _better_ king than him!" Voldemort hissed.

"And what do you know about 'better' kings? You only make mad queens," Harry bit out, aiming to hurt but, the Dark Lord didn't even flinch.

"I am Kingmaker. Will I make a mad king too?" Voldemort drawled.

Harry hissed and Freia lifted her head, opening her mouth to screech. Tonks' hand flashed out, clamping around Harry's wrist. Harry took a deep breath and relaxed, running his hand over Freia's thick neck, soothingly.

"You make _your_ King and, I did what I did. We're at _war_ ," Harry said, softly.

McGonagall cleared her throat, looking between the Dark Lord and Harry, wearily.

"I'm afraid, your Grace, I agree with the Dark Lord. You aren't to inspire fear. But, hope. Yes, the people will rise for you. But, _only_ , if you show that you are different. And better," McGonagall said, sounding distasteful in her agreement with the Dark Lord.

Harry looked at her for a long time, different emotions working across his face. He looked around at his council, Bill and Ginny's eyes directed at the table top. Kingsley stared at him, impassively. Only Tonks stared at him, unabashed.

"Tonks?" Harry asked.

Tonks cleared her throat. "Uncle is right. We had no business conducting that raid. But, we did so, because we are yours to command," Tonks said, shortly.

Harry's cheek grew hot with blood. He looked down at Freia and cleared his throat before looking back up at Voldemort. Voldemort stared at him, triumphant. Harry's stomach turned in humiliation and he looked away.

"Fine. I made a mistake," Harry said, softly. "I apologize. I'm sorry."

Voldemort hummed. "You should-"

"That's enough," Tonks barked. Voldemort turned a bloody gaze onto his niece. "That's enough, uncle. He apologized. Next order of business."

Voldemort snorted and shook his head. "Fine. The rite of passage, then."

"What is that?" Harry asked, his voice soft.

"I had forgotten, somehow," McGonagall said, her brow furrowed into a frown. She looked to the Dark Lord. Harry could almost forget how much she despised him. "Do you still have your companion?"

"Nagini shall die when I do," Voldemort said, his lips curled into a disgust. Dying still struck a nerve with him. Harry swallowed. He wondered if the man would search out immortality through other means. Voldemort looked at Harry. "You're the heir of Gryffindor. You must go through the rite of passage. You will receive a familiar. A constant companion. It is necessary to assume the throne."

"Draco has a familiar?" Harry asked, curiously.

Ginny scoffed. "No. The Dark Lord never meant for him to assume the throne. He never meant for _any_ of this to happen. If he had his way, Bellatrix would still be on the throne and they would feast on your heart," Ginny spat, irritated.

Harry froze. Freia stilled under his hand. He had nothing to say to that. He looked at Voldemort. Voldemort was watching him, carefully, searching for his reaction. Harry swallowed his fury and his uncertainty.

"Perhaps," he said, finally. He turned back to Voldemort and McGonagall. "What must I do?"

"I consumed the heart of a snake. I was the only one of my siblings to keep it down. For that, I received Nagini. My python that serves as my eyes and ears when I am away from Hogwarts," Voldemort said, his voice cool and Harry leaned forward.

"And she is loyal?" Harry asked.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "I am the only one who can speak to her. _I speak Parseltongue._ "

Harry swallowed as the low hisses filled his ears. The other council members shuddered from disgust. Freia shrieked as if she understood it. Harry squirmed, biting his lower lip as fire stirred in his lower belly. Voldemort's lips curled into a smirk as if he knew the kind of effect that he had on Harry. He probably did. Harry was an obvious fool.

"I see," Harry rasped, leaning forward. Voldemort smirked wider, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"You will eat the heart of a lion, your Grace," McGonagall said, interrupting them with a disapproving look. Harry flushed and then paled.

His stomach turned again, in revulsion this time. A lion's heart. Big and raw and bloody.

"Oh."

 **WHO**

Narcissa couldn't remember the last time someone had made the journey up the crumbling staircase. She knew that house elves must feed the three witches of the tower but, largely, they were meant to be forgotten. Voldemort had wanted them forgotten. The only ones that knew the fate of the Slytherins were locked away from harm.

Narcissa swallowed the bile that turned her stomach every time she thought of her brother. Her brother that seemed to be floating farther and farther away from her. How she could remember when she was just a girl, the way he would hug her tight, and swing her around, and _teach_ her. He had never wanted the throne for himself.

He had once said that Albion should be glad that have her rule. But, no. Her son ruled now. And he would be a good ruler, as long as she kept her hand firm.

Narcissa lifted her wand and waved it. The trap-door swung open and a ladder rolled down. Narcissa carefully pulled her skirts up around her waist and climbed up the ladder, emerging into a dinghy tower room. The floor was unclean, a firm layer of grime on the stone. But, it was warm and the fire roared. Narcissa paused as she watched Sybill Trelawney play in the ashes, whispering words to herself.

" _Child of Fire...blood and snow and black as night...Wyrdfod,_ " she babbled to herself.

Narcissa rolled her eyes at the nonsense words and she continued forward, stepping around the Seer. She paused at the back room and stared at the woman that sat furthest from the door, tucked into a corner, her blankets wrapped tight around her.

"Seer!" Narcissa barked.

Cassandra jerked out of her sleep and her eyes flashed open.

"Get out... _get out_ ," Cassandra Vlabatsky growled, her hair tangled around her pocked face. Narcissa didn't flinch, staring at the woman that had told her her fate so many years ago.

She didn't look much different, as if she had frozen in time, just like Voldemort. Her hair was still long and dark, tangled around her freckled and pocked face. Her lips were cracking but, it had always been her eyes that had created terror in Narcissa's dreams-when she could still dream, that is. Her eyes were big and wide. Her pupils were tiny pinpricks, swallowed whole by the gray, like the eye of a hurricane.

"Cassandra, don't you recognize me?" Narcissa asked, her voice cold.

Cassandra straightened, looking at Narcissa long and hard. She hummed, leaning back in her chair again.

"Narcissa Godkiller," she hissed. "Oh, don't I remember you."

"I'm sure," Narcissa said, her lips pulling into a cool smile. She carefully watched Celestina Warbeck creep forward, peeking from behind the ratty curtains.

" _'_ _They said you were terrifying. With cat's teeth and three eyes. You're not terrifying,'_ " Celestina suddenly said and Narcissa winced. It was not Celestina's voice but, Narcissa's from years back. Narcissa's voice when she was a child. " ' _You're boring'._ "

"Stop it," Narcissa barked.

Celestina shrieked and ducked back deeper into the North Tower. Cassandra laughed.

"You don't know what I am," Cassandra laughed. She held her hand out. Narcissa ignored it, pulling her skirts closer to her as she settled on the sofa, across from the woman. Cassandra leaned forward, her eyes glowing. "Would you like to know your future?"

"I can quote people too, Cassandra. 'Everyone wants to know their future until they know their future'," Narcissa drawled, spitting the words back at her.

"Aye, so you can. Why do you come to me, Narcissa Godkiller?" Cassandra drawled.

Narcissa frowned. "Tell me my future," she commanded.

"It remains the same, Godkiller," Cassandra said, her voice flat and Narcissa frowned, shaking her head.

"It can't be. I don't sit on the throne," Narcissa snapped. "Tell it to me again."

"You are not the Kingmaker but you shall make kings," Cassandra hissed. She leaned forward, dragging her long black nails down Narcissa's chin. "His crown is gold and his blood bleeds black. This you know. You have cast down a queen as you have been told, the throne crushed through your fingers."

And then she stopped, choking on the air and she trembled. Narcissa was still, watching the woman jerk in her chair, her eyes rolling around. She stopped again, breathing heavily, her pupils blown now.

" _You will be queen for a time, just as the queen you cast down. Then, comes another. Younger. More beautiful to cast you down and to take all you hold dear_ ," Cassandra spat and Narcissa trembled.

In a fury, she pulled out her wand and hissed, " _Crucio_."

Cassandra shrieked out laughter as she twisted and turned, her back arching in agony. Narcissa released her from the spell and snarled, "What do you _mean_?"

Beautiful. Hermione Granger was beautiful. Daphne Greengrass was beautiful. All around her, she was surrounded by beauty.

Cassandra laughed, cruelly.

"Oh, sweet Narcissa. You will kill a god, my sweet, but do you know how to kill a monster?"

 **IS**

"He's written to me again," Gabrielle said, biting her lower lip, holding the parchment to her chest. Fleur stared up at her, grim, even as she stitched the hem of another dress. "He's sent a book this time. It's a book on the geography of Albion. How magical."

"Isn't it?" Fleur drawled.

If Gabrielle heard the tone of her sister's voice, she didn't acknowledge it. She spun around, reading the letter over and over again as if she were trying to memorize the way the ink curved.

"He's...he's invited me to his home, Fleur. To see his library. He has a topographical map of the known world. He understands how much I love to read. How much I want to know. He knows so much. He's been _everywhere_. He's told me about-" Gabrielle said, looking up at the ceiling, attempting to fight the smile that was working across her face.

"When has he told you anything? At the ball?" Fleur demanded.

"Well, yes," Gabrielle stammered. "And...and in his letters. And he...he visited. Yesterday. He wasn't a customer though. He just...brought me sweets. The kind from the ball that I enjoyed. You were busy in the back. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Well, you should've," Fleur snapped. "I don't want him here. I don't want him in my shop."

"Why?" Gabrielle demanded. "He's kind to me. And he doesn't...he doesn't notice. The allure."

"Are you sure?" Fleur laughed. It was brittle and hard, full of the rage of too-short childhoods and stolen friends. "Snatching a Veela up right before her time. What a _steal_."

"Don't say that. He's a creature too. He won't tell me which one but, he is. And he's a nice man. You've always said you wanted me to marry a nice man," Gabrielle said, coldly, clutching her letter to her chest.

Fleur paled and she cursed when she felt the point of her needle run along her finger, a long jagged cut there. It was shallow but the blood rushed. Fleur didn't even feel the pain. Her blood pounded in her ears.

"Marry? He's...you've talked about marriage? You're only 15!"

"Plenty of people get married at 15. And I'm turning 16. I won't be old maid like _you_ , Fleur," Gabrielle snapped.

"Gabrielle, have you talked about marriage?" Fleur repeated, her voice like steel.

"No," Gabrielle hissed. "He's kind to me though. He's my friend. And I want to visit my friend. And I don't need your permission. I don't."

"You _do_. Maman and Papa-"

"Maman and Papa are dead!" Gabrielle shouted. "They've been dead for years! Because of what they were! What we are! And, Fenrir could protect us. He _wants_ to. So, do not question my friend. Do not question me. You are not my mother."

"But, I raised you like I was. I gave up my _life_ for you!" Fleur shouted. She shut her mouth instantly, looking at the pain that twisted Gabrielle's face into something sour.

"You won't have to anymore," Gabrielle whispered and she grabbed her cloak and ran from the shop, the bell ringing behind her.

Fleur groaned. " _Fuck._ "

 **FAIREST OF**

Hermione couldn't help her gasp.

The library was just as gorgeous as Hermione had heard it was. She had read _Hogwarts: A History_ a million times, the chapter on the library well thumbed through. But, it was the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen. Nothing could have prepared Hermione for the pure majesty of it all. The mahogany bookshelves five times her height, lined with books and tomes and scrolls. They were endless to her eye, books and books. So much information and knowledge that Hermione nearly wept in joy.

Hermione walked along the bookcases, dragging her fingers across the shelves. Draco had tried his best to keep this from her but, with a wand, the lock charm was no match for her. As long as she didn't encounter Madame Pince, the loyal bookkeeper, she was in the clear.

"Lady Granger."

Hermione jumped at the voice. She spun and looked at the man. Tall and straw-blonde, and handsome.

"Lord Crouch," Hermione breathed.

His lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm no Lord. That's my father. Barty to you, my Lady," he said, taking her hand and bending over it to press a kiss to her knuckles. Hermione swallowed.

"I'm no Lady, Barty. Hermione will do," she corrected.

"Hermione." He said her name with a sort of awe that Hermione had never heard before. She pinked even further and slowly pulled her hand away. Barty's lips twitched into his smile and his tongue flicked out, licking at his bottom lip nervously. "So, the dragon sets the little bird free."

Hermione snorted. 'Little bird'. She was just as tall as Barty Crouch, and though she was thin as a rail, she'd never been compared to a bird. A wraith perhaps. Definitely, a dementor, though that was no fault of hers. But, a bird? Never.

"My patronus is an otter, actually," Hermione snapped.

"You can cast a corporeal Patronus?" Barty asked, his eyes wide with delight. He leaned forward. "I've never been able to cast one."

" _You?_ But, you're a Death Eater," Hermione pointed out.

Barty snorted. "You want to know a secret?" he whispered. Hermione nodded once. "The Dark Lord can't cast a Patronus period. It's why he sends the Lestranges to monitor Azkaban every few months."

"You're joking," Hermione gaped.

Barty shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line out of amusement. He always seemed to be near the edge of laughter. It was a far cry from the grimness and mean-spirited nature of court.

"I'm not," Barty laughed. He took her hand, tugging her further between the bookshelves. "Now, little _otter_ , what are you looking for in particular. I spent plenty of time in this room now that my father is here."

"You don't like your father?" Hermione asked, curiously.

Barty winked at her. "What man does?"

Hermione laughed and let him tug her along. He began pulling books off the shelves, tucking them against his side.

"Do you like ancient ruins? I think it's fascinating. _Advanced Ruins Translation._ The Dark Lord picked me for my defensive magic, you know. Learned nearly everything from _Defensive Magical Theory_ and my father. Here. Take it," he said, shoving books at her hard and fast. He paused in front of a book and hummed. " _The Dream Oracle._ "

"Don't tell me you believe in Divination," Hermione said, pursing her lips.

If anything, Hermione's life taught her how faulty divination was. Fleur couldn't read the future and Hermione firmly believed no one else could either. The future was so subjective, held hostage to people's choices and chance.

"The prophecy about Lily Gryffindor came true," Barty pointed out.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue all about self-fulfilling prophecies when she heard a familiar voice. Hermione turned away, pulling the books from Barty's arms and moved forward, her skirts swishing behind her. Barty followed on her heels and Hermione's frown deepened as Luna's voice grew louder and louder as Hermione drew closer.

Luna. And Rodolphus again. But, it was the middle of the day now, and they seemed unafraid to be found in such a position.

"You tell him to feed the beast raw meat soaked in brown liquor and fireseed to encourage growth," Luna said, gently, as she snuggled deeper against Rodolphus. His large hand sat on her thigh, pulling her closer to his body, practically cradling her in his lap.

"Aye, Luna. Anything else?" Rodolphus murmured against the top of her head.

"No, my love. We shan't tell him his future," Luna said, coyly and she leaned up, pressing her lips to his in three quick kisses. Rodolphus snorted.

"You read the future now, Luna?" Rodolphus teased.

"I know enough. I trust in prophecies, Rodolphus. You know this. The _Wyrdfod_ is here. He calls Fire. He will free my people," Luna said, sternly, brushing her fingers against his cheek, but so careful to avoid the scar that tore through his eye and flesh. Instead, she pressed her lips to it, worshipping the scar.

"Luna," Rodolphus said, almost warning.

"No. This scar is mine. I will kiss it better for you," Luna said, her voice cracking. "You killed the deathless for me."

Barty's hand clamped tight around Hermione's wrist and he tried to pull her back, his eyes wide.

"We shouldn't be watching them," Barty warned.

Hermione jerked away from him, eyes narrowed.

"That's my maid. She's my maid," Hermione said and she marched out, into the open sitting area.

Rodolphus stiffened immediately, his hand tightening on Luna's thigh. He made a move, as if to get up, before realizing that he'd be dumping Luna onto the ground. Luna slowly stood up, her eyes wide and her lips pulled into a soft smile.

"Hermione," Luna said, dreamily.

"Is everything all right over here?" Hermione asked, suspicious as she stared at Rodolphus. Rodolphus shifted. He was so much older than Luna. Older and taller and larger. It made Hermione afraid for Luna. Luna was so sweet.

"Everything is fine," Luna said, softly. She turned back to Rodolphus and stood on her toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Remember what I've said."

"Always," Rodolphus rumbled. He nodded once at Hermione. "Lady Granger. And Barty. Come out here."

Luna stiffened as Barty crept forward from the stacks, chagrined. "Uh, hello. Rodolphus."

"Don't you have somewhere _else_ to be?" Rodolphus asked, cracking his neck. Barty hummed, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip again. Slowly, he handed Hermione the short stack of books.

"Here are the rest. If you ever need recommendations, I'd be glad to give you a few," Barty said, earnestly. Hermione flushed and nodded, momentarily forgetting the image of Luna and Rodolphus Lestrange curled tight against each other.

"Barty, let's go," Rodolphus snapped.

Barty nodded once and followed after Rodolphus. Hermione flushed darker when the man glanced back one more time. When Hermione turned back to Luna, the younger woman looked at her with distrustful grey eyes.

"You shouldn't speak to him. The King won't like it," Luna warned.

Hermione's lip curled into a sneer. "Since when do you care about what the King does and doesn't like?"

"Never. But, I care about your well-being. If he sees you flirting with another man, even the Dark Lord can't protect you from that," Luna warned.

Hermione scoffed at the implication. She hadn't been flirting. Barty had only been kind and, kindness had become a rarity as of late.

"I'm not the only one fraternizing with Death Eaters too. Rodolphus Lestrange, hmm?" Hermione snapped. "Well, we can both keep our secrets."

Luna was silent for a long moment, as she looked at Hermione. Even at the best of time, Hermione felt like Luna's gaze stripped her bare. She swallowed hard.

"You know, Hermione, sometimes, you can be a real ass."

And then, Luna walked away.

 **THEM**

"Gellert! Warlock of the Sea! We come to you!" the old crone shouted over the crashing waves. Her eyes burned and watered, streams of tears long dried on her wizened cheeks. Her tastebuds had swelled from the salt in the air, and her feet were cracked opened and bloody from the salt bridge that she had walked, night and day, into the endlessness of the Narrow Sea.

She had walked up the salt bridge, nearly to the mouth of the Narrow Sea that led out into the Great Sea, towards Alfheim and the City-States.

"WE, BELLATRIX CHAOS-BRINGER, COME TO YOU!" she roared, her voice cracked and raw. She doubled over, coughing and spitting phlegm onto the salt bridge.

When she looked up again, a pair of navy blue eyes stared at her from the edge of the salt bridge. His eyes were cruel, a long sheet of wet blonde hair hanging over her shoulders. He reached a blue-tinged hand from the water and beckoned her forward. Bellatrix went forward and slowly kneeled at the edge.

"You seek the Drowned God?" he asked her, his blue lips barely moving.

"If it's what he calls himself. We look for the Warlock of the Sea," Bellatrix drawled.

She had heard all about self-proclaimed. She knew all about them. And she knew a Godkiller too. Bellatrix's lips curled into a sneer. She would kill the bitch if it was the last thing.

"He hears you," the man said and then he grabbed her by the front of her dress and pulled her into the water, dragging her below.

With the strength of an old woman, she kicked and screamed, bubbles escaping her mouth. She choked on the water as it filled her stomach, her lungs, her world. Everything grew blacker as the man dragged her farther and farther down into the ocean's depth. The water was swallowing her whole and even her magic seemed to leave her in her final moments. Bellatrix hissed and stopped struggling. She would die with dignity.

She waited, preparing for it all to end.

And then, she could breathe again. Bellatrix collapsed against the wet rocks and wheezed, vomiting up salt water. She looked up, her cracked, calloused hands pressed against the rocks. The man walked past her as if nothing had happened. He had a wet sheer blue robe on, his cock bouncing gently against his inner thigh. He was decorated with shells and coral, heavy gold and crystal hanging from around his neck. His hair was flat against his head, a dark honey blonde from the weight of the saltwater.

So, he was Gellert.

"You've _aged_ , Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer," Gellert taunted as he moved further into the cave. Bellatrix stood up and lumbered after him, her violet eyes narrowed as she regarded him. "Ah, yes. I know you, Bellatrix. The selkies screamed of your coming after you slew one and dragged her skin for warmth."

The cave was well-decorated, draped in coral reefs and shells and sea glass. It was a place of excess, and the longer Bellatrix looked at Gellert, she knew what kind of person he was. She knew what he would want.

"Do you know why we've come?" Bellatrix snapped.

Gellert rolled navy eyes to look at her. How beautiful he was. Long and lean with pale blue skin. And then, in a flicker of an eye, he was suddenly a stooped old man. Bellatrix recoiled just as Gellert's appearance flickered again. Gellert smirked.

"Presumably to fix...that," Gellert said, gesturing wildly to her body. Bellatrix snarled and Gellert laughed, mockingly. "My dear, sweet child-"

"If you know us, you know we are not a child," Bellatrix snapped angrily.

Gellert snorted. "Child, everyone is a child to me. I am as old as the sea. As the stars. As the moon," he said, dramatically as he crossed to a sea glass cabinet and threw the doors open. They crashed against the stone, shattering but, Gellert didn't seem to notice.

"You are lying," Bellatrix said, firmly.

Gellert hummed. "Don't tell my clients," he purred. He rifled through the potion bottles, searching for something. "I've never had such a famous client. Well, except one."

"We'd rather know the payment," Bellatrix snapped, irritated. She raked her fingers through her brittle hair, pulling away another thatch of hair. She let out a quiet whine.

Gellert laughed again. "I'm getting there, Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer," he warned. "Now, I once had a client. A little girl really but, a princess. A princess of the sea. She was a beautiful thing but, you all...you land-walkers all think the same. You think you know beauty. I changed her to make her beautiful. Gave her a pair of legs."

"We know beauty. We were beautiful," Bellatrix whispered, forlornly.

"And you will be again," Gellert hissed. He pulled out a poisonous green potion and hummed, licking the salt crusted on the bottle of the vial. "Now, the little girl wanted to know you all. She was a curious little thing. And I let her walk away. She never paid me. I didn't ask for much, you know. Just her voice."

"Why does this story concern us?" Bellatrix demanded, irritated. "We will discuss our payment n-"

"This is the payment. Bring me the mermaid," Gellert snarled and then, suddenly, Bellatrix saw what struck fear in people's hearts.

It was in his eyes. This Warlock laughed and smiled but, his eyes were dark and mistrusting. His eyes were cruel and there was no laughter there. Just a devastating type of hunger that threatened to consume all in his path. The Warlock was here for the deals. Nothing more. Nothing less.

 _Nothing._

"We don't have time for a mermaid," Bellatrix said, dismissively.

"The mermaid is at Hogwarts. The seat of your power. Bring her to the water and I will find her. I will find her _anywhere_ ," Gellert said, his voice dark.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled out another chunk. Bellatrix let out a terrible cry, pressing gnarled fingers over her bald head. She glanced at her reflection of the sea glass. Her head bare, marked with only liver spots and wrinkled like an old raisin. She was dying with every passing second, shriveling into nothingness.

"Done. Done," Bellatrix stammered. "We will bring her to you. We shall. We shall. We shall strike a covenant. Finished in blood."

Gellert looked at her with a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"I would have never suggested a _covenant_. A promise would have done. But, if it is a covenant you want..." Gellert drawled as he stooped over and pulled up a sharp of sea glass. He drew it across his palm and wet blood bubbled up from the jagged cut. He offered the bloody end to Bellatrix. "It is a covenant we shall forge."

Bellatrix ran her tongue over the blood, tasting it and she moaned. She gasped, her heart beating easier as the blood of beauty dried on her tongue. She smeared the shard of sea glass across her lips, painting them red and then she held forward her trembling arm, loose with fat and skin. She drew the sea glass across her skin, cutting deep.

Gellert grinned and ran his finger over the cut, sucking his fingers into his mouth sexually. Slowly, he began to bob his head, smirking around his fingers as he mimed sucking a cock. Bellatrix shuddered, sneering in disgust.

"We strike a covenant. Give us the potion. A potion for a damned mermaid," Bellatrix demanded.

Gellert hummed and opened the vial, smearing his blood over the mouth of the vial and offered it.

"Drink up, Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer," he drawled.

Bellatrix dragged her tongue around the rim, tasting and lapping at Gellert's blood and then she downed the vial liquid, coughing and hacking as the sludge slid down her gullet and settled in her belly. The moment the bottle was empty, Bellatrix jerked, falling to her knees as the magic turned in her body, filling her veins and her eye went wide and bloodshot. Bellatrix opened her mouth to scream but nothing emerged as she convulsed on the ground.

Her entire body jerked over and over again, seizing uncontrollably at the magic worked over her. Gellert stared down at her with cold eyes void of any humor or laughter. He walked around her, shaking salt over her body, whispering ancient words for ancient spells. Bellatrix recognized the ancient magic that filled her body. It was as if she were eating the rarest and most beautiful of hearts.

Her eyes suddenly went into focus as her entire body burned. She watched her trembling hands smoothen out, dead skin peeling and flaking away. She whined as her skin tightened around her like a cocoon, too tight for her body and then suddenly it burst in a swell of mucus and blood. She was a snake, shedding her skin, and when she emerged, her hands were taut and firm, and soft, as if she had been just born.

Bellatrix cried out, her voice high and full, as the skin flaked away, leaving a filthy mess beneath her, and when it finally ended, she breathed quietly, lying in her filth.

She ran her hands over her body, cupping her full, heavy breasts, dragging her fingers down her supple sides, to her round hips, to her wet folds, tight like a virgin. Bellatrix cried out in triumph as she sat up and luscious black locks fell around her, pooling between her thighs. Bellatrix staggered to her feet, and she felt _powerful_.

"My, my, you are fair," Gellert said, appreciatively, as he circled her, staring at her tight waist, her high ass, her firm calves. Bellatrix preened under the attention.

"We are," Bellatrix hissed, and then she turned to Gellert. "But, we are not _the_ Fairest."

Gellert hummed. "No. You aren't. Oh, we've heard stories under the sea, indeed. And I know the blue eyes that watch me."

Bellatrix moved forward. Gellert ignored her, walking over to a wardrobe and pulling out silver robes, far too extravagant and conservative for the man draped in sheer fabrics. He tossed them to her, and she took them, pulling them over her naked form. She buttoned it up to her cleavage and let the swell of her breasts be noticed. It felt like centuries since she had been beautiful. She would have the world know.

"How may we destroy the Fairest?" Bellatrix demanded.

"I am not your magic mirror, Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer. You asked for one thing. That is our covenants. Beauty for a mermaid," Gellert warned her, sharply.

Bellatrix shook her head. "We will give you all the Narrow Sea when we are queen again."

Gellert froze. "All?"

"All," Bellatrix confirmed.

Gellert turned to her and moved closer, cupping her jaw. He pulled her close until they shared their breaths. "Find the tomb of the Deathless. Find the unbeatable wand," Gellert said, sharply. He pulled away towards his cabinets and pulled forth a crooked wand, scraped and light as if crafted from driftwood. "Find the wand."

"What wand? The Deathless?" Bellatrix snarled as she snatched the driftwood wand from Gellert's grasp.

Gellert pressed his fingers to her cheek. "The Narrow Sea…" Gellert rasped, his lashes fluttering in lust. And then he swallowed it down. "Find the tomb of the Deathless. The deathless is hidden separate from the body inside a needle, which is in an egg, which is in a duck, which is in a hare, which is in a chest of gold, which is buried under a green oak tree, which is on the island of Eshnur, in the center of the City-States."

"And the wand? A wand that is unbeatable?" Bellatrix hissed.

Gellert nodded. "I am not a wizard or witch like you. I am warlock. I cannot wield it. But, you...the Narrow Sea...it has been called many things. The Deathstick. The Wand of Destiny. But...call it by its name: The Elder Wand."

Bellatrix shuddered. The name sounded powerful. She drifted back, the hem of her silver robes swinging against the top of her feet. Her feet that were no longer dried or marked with blood. Bellatrix lifted her new wand and Conjured a pair of silver boots. She shrieked with delight, swinging around, running her hands up and down her body. She looked up at Gellert.

"We will find the wand. We will bring you the mermaid and the Narrow Sea," Bellatrix swore. "Bellatrix Slytherin always rewards those that assist her."

 **ALL?**

"Gabrielle."

Fenrir stared down at her, his brow furrowed. Gabrielle hiccuped, keeping her cloak tight around herself, the rain crashing down around her, the hem of her cloak spotted with mud. She shivered against the cold, her Warming Charm breaking and cracking.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered, her teeth chattering.

"Come inside, Gabrielle," Fenrir said, his voice soft and Gabrielle stumbled after him, puddles appearing underneath her sopping skirts and shoes. "Shoes off. Before you catch a death."

"J-just a-a death? N-not mine?" she said, her laugh rattling in her chest as she toed off her shoes, her bare feet touching the cold marble floors. She nearly bent over from the cold when suddenly, she swept off her feet, cradled against a large barrel chest.

"Just a death," Fenrir said, quietly as he walked her towards one of the three parlors in the chateau. Gabrielle pressed herself into the heat of his body and whined softly when he lowered her to the sofa, right in front of the roaring fire.

Fenrir pulled his wand and waved his wand, a blast of warm air drying her clothes.

"T-thank you, Fenrir," she whispered, as her cheeks flush pink from the sudden change in temperature and she let out a soft sneeze. Fenrir's laugh sounded like a growl.

"I know I said you could come see my maps but, I didn't know you'd brave a winter rainstorm," Fenrir teased as he kneeled in front of her. Even kneeling, he was nearly of a height with her, sitting on the sofa before him. He pressed his hands to her knees and she settled her hands on top of his.

She rubbed her small fingers over the hair on his knuckles, a thoughtful expression on her face. She looked up at him and Fenrir stared at her. She was a beauty. The most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Far more beautiful than any of the others. It was Veela beauty, but it was more than that. There was something raw about this girl.

"My sister forbade me from seeing you," Gabrielle said, softly. She stared at him, waiting for the fury.

"Your sister is a smart woman," Fenrir allowed after a long moment.

Gabrielle grabbed Fenrir's hand, pulling it to her lips, defiantly. She pressed a kiss to his knuckles and shook her head.

"My sister is _not_ my mother," she said, sharply and then she grabbed him by his face and pulled him in, pressing her lips against his, hard.

It was unpracticed; the clumsy kiss of a green girl. Still, Fenrir reveled in the sweetness of it. He let it linger, her lips moving against his before he pulled back. He waited for her blush but, she stared at him with big blue-gray eyes, her blonde hair wild around her pretty, round face.

"Gabrielle," he said, gently. His lips twitched into a feral smile. "That isn't how you give a proper kiss."

"Kiss me proper, then," Gabrielle said firmly. "I want you to."

And so he did, nipping at her lips, his hands moving up her knees and thighs, settling on her waist. Gabrielle scooted forward, her thighs spreading wide to situate him and she clutched at his face as if she were lost in the sea of the world.

:::

 **A/N:** Hello, world! I'm back and better than ever!

Here is the next chapter of _Fairest_. I hope you enjoyed it! It was a tough one to right, mostly because it's setting up for a lot of major events that are going to happen in part two. We also see Harry make one of his first mistakes as a king and it'll definitely come back to bite him in the ass. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter.

I will say that there weren't many reviews last chapter and that was a little disheartening. Reviews are like sustenance for writers. They help us get better and let us gauge what our audience likes or doesn't like, or what they'd like to see more of. I never really change plans for my stories but, I will include something extra if a commenter asks for it, like a little side thing that won't mess up my outlines too much. Anyway, so I hope y'all review. Thank you so much!

See you next Friday!


	20. Chapter Sixteen

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Sixteen

Severus leaned against the wall, waiting as his Lord paced the room, watching the empty space before them. Lucius waited, his arm bared. He glanced at Severus and rolled his eyes. Severus pressed his hand over his mouth, smothering his derisive snort.

"Do you have somewhere else to be, Lucius, Severus?" Voldemort drawled.

Lucius cleared his throat. "No, my Lord."

Voldemort regarded him for a long moment as if considering his sincerity. Lucius looked up at him, the picture of innocence. Voldemort rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Good," Voldemort snapped and he strode forward, pressing the tip of his wand to the skull and snake tattoo.

Lucius gritted his teeth against the pain and Severus winced in sympathy. He knew first hand how painful the Summoning could be for the Death Eater. They had all experienced it once before. The loud sharp pops of Apparition were deafening but, Severus refused to show weakness in front of the others. Perhaps Lucius and, of course, his Lord, but no one else.

Severus looked around.

The Lestranges had arrived, though Rodolphus looked a little messy as if he'd just rolled out of a bed. Most probably a romp with the little servant girl that Rodolphus thought no one knew about. Of course, Severus had not been the Lord of Whispers in name only. Rabastan looked curious, staring around the incomplete circle.

Corban Yaxley had arrived, tall and firm, but without Thorfinn Rowle. So, Lucius and Severus had been wrong. Rowle's House had been saved from extinction but, his absence meant not for very long.

The Carrows stood at the ready, eyes wide with excitement. Barty Crouch Jr. looked hesitant but, intrigued as he looked at the missing spaces in the circle. The last two that rounded out the group was Augustus Rookwood, a broad-shouldered man with a sloping nose, and Peter Pettigrew. Peter looked around, frantic, his eyes watery and his oversized teeth nibbling his lower lip raw.

"My Lord," they whispered over and over again, moving forward to kiss the back of Voldemort's hand. Voldemort stared down at them, terrible empty-faced.

Severus always remained in awe of his Lord. He switched from the charming Lord Slytherin to the terrifying Dark Lord Voldemort in only seconds. If only the pretty Fairest One could see him now, he wouldn't think him a tamed thing.

"Welcome, my friends. It has been seventeen long years….seventeen years since I summoned you _all_ to me," Voldemort began as he looked around, his eyes falling on Yaxley and Peter. Peter cowered but, Yaxley was like stone. "Yet, you answer my call as though it were yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"

Voldemort stepped, sniffing the air, his bright red eyes wild. "I smell guilt," he continued. "The stench of guilt hangs heavy."

A shiver ran through the circle but, nobody dared to step away from him.

"My sister has died and the empire I have built from bones and blood is slipping from my fingers. And I ask myself...why did this band of witches and wizards never come to their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty, begging to correct the mistakes that have been wrought?" the Dark Lord asked.

It was an unfair question, Severus and Lucius knew. But, the Dark Lord was not fair to his Death Eaters. That wasn't the point of them at all.

"My...my Lord, forgive-" Peter began, stammering.

" _Crucio_."

Peter Pettigrew fell onto the floor, screaming and shrieking. Voldemort ended the curse and stared, down at the gasping, tortured man.

"Get up, Wormtail," Voldemort hissed. Peter pushed himself up, gasping and wheezing for air. Voldemort turned towards the circle. "Look around. Faces are missing. Tell me, who."

Rodolphus cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Thorfinn Rowle, Torquil Travers, Walden MacNair, and Antonin Dolohov," Rodolphus reported before stepping back into rank.

"Severus, explain what this means," Voldemort said, all cool patience once more.

Severus cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Only those that are still loyal to you were called through the blood and ink that mark us as yours. Only those whose intention lies with serving you and you alone," he said.

Voldemort nodded. "Indeed, my friend," Voldemort murmured. He paused, considering his next words as he looked around the room at his most loyal. "My sister...the late Queen Bellatrix was murdered. By my youngest sister, Narcissa."

A ripple of shock and disgust rocked through the circle but, they were all well-trained enough not to turn to each other and whisper. But, Lucius could hear the thoughts in their heads. _Kinslayer,_ they called her.

 _Kinslayer._

"Narcissa murdered her way to the throne, then. What shall be done about her, my Lord?" Rabastan asked, sharply, immediately speaking up. Rodolphus cut his younger brother a look that Rabastan ignored. Voldemort looked at him, approvingly.

"I have taken measures of allying myself and our cause with another. Our goal has always been to preserve the monarchy and the power of Slytherin. To ensure our survival, I have aligned us with the Prince of Gryffindor, Harry Wildfyre," Voldemort hissed.

This time, the ranks did break and they all began speaking, swiftly. Concern was voice loudly, all questioning his decisions, implying Imperius Curses and poisons and potions. Love potions. Lucius winced. He knew what came next.

" _Enough!_ " Voldemort snarled, whipping his wand around. It landed on Barty. " _Crucio_."

Barty burst into pained laughter. The curse ended as swiftly as it began and he only stumbled, caught by Rabastan and righted by Yaxley.

"Lucius and I have long known about our Lord's decision. To believe that he could be bewitched implies that you doubt our Lord's superiority over all other wizards," Severus said, his voice a blank slate as he regarded the group of them. In truth, he had only known one wizard that could possibly outwit the Dark Lord and he had long locked him away in the reflection of a mirror.

"Of course. My Lord, we will follow you anywhere. What would you have us do?" Alecto Carrow asked, voice coarse and grainy.

"Swear allegiance and fealty to the true King of Gryffindor as you would me. When you do, then I shall reveal my plans to you all. But, know this, we will not remain at Hogwarts Castle for much longer. You are dismissed," Voldemort said, sharply.

The Death Eaters all looked amongst each other. Voldemort had no doubt that once they disappeared, they would speak amongst each other about it all. Wormtail quaked in his boots but, he would be loyal. At least, Yaxley would keep him in line. None would warn the disloyal ones out of fear of Voldemort's wrath.

The Death Eaters disapparated one by one until only Barty remained. He shifted nervously and Voldemort raised a single eyebrow. He was far more relaxed with Barty and the Lestranges, similar to how he was around Lucius and Severus. The Lestranges had been at his side when he had made his last journey before settling permanently at Hogwarts.

Voldemort had practically fostered Barty when he had grown too unruly for his father.

"Barty?" Voldemort prompted.

"My Lord...you said...you said we wouldn't be staying for much longer," Barty said.

Voldemort sighed. "Barty, I do hate to repeat myself, as you know."

"Yes, my Lord," Barty said, hurriedly. "But, I wanted to know...will we be leaving with Lady Granger? She doesn't deserve to be stuck here with the false king."

Voldemort's lips twitched into a smirk. Barty had always been a quick learner. The moment he had learned that they no longer followed the King Draco, he had changed his rhetoric.

"Lady Granger isn't your concern. She is my concern. What do you care, Barty?" Voldemort asked.

Barty hesitated, looking up at the taller man. "My Lord…"

"Go, Barty," Voldemort sighed. He knew when he wouldn't get an answer.

Though he had told Barty to go, Voldemort Disapparated himself, disappearing to a place that he had not been in so very long.

The room was covered in a thick layer of dust, powdery like snow. Voldemort's nose twitched with the urge to sneeze and he coughed instead, moving forward. He glanced at the bust, Helena's diadem glinting under a layer of gray. Quietly, he lifted his wand.

" _Scourgify_."

The diadem shined as bright as the sun, nearly blinding in the dim firelight. Voldemort cleared his throat and looked away, raising his wand again. The fire burned brighter. Fire reminded him of raven hair and plump red lips, and the fiercest look in a pair of bright jewel eyes. Voldemort swallowed as he approached the mirror, the only thing untouched by the passage of time.

His own reflection stared back at him, curious and handsome. He had not aged. Just a taste of Harry's blood had rejuvenated him for what felt like a half-century. He imagined that's what the fleeting taste of immortality was like. Even thinking about it sent blood rushing to his cock and he felt it twitch. Voldemort took a deep breath, centering himself as his reflection disappeared, revealing electric blue eyes.

" _Tom Marvolo Slytherin, come near. Ask your questions, truth you'll hear."_

"Always rhyming, Albus," Voldemort mocked bitterly. The man trapped in the mirror did not respond, only staring at him with sad blue eyes. "The Fairest is not dead, if you must know."

The blue eyes lit up with surprise and Voldemort ignored it, sneering. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, looking for a way to banish those blue eyes.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is fairest of them all?"

The glass rippled and revealed the Fairest.

Harry stood in the middle of the paddock, laughing madly at something. His eyes were clenched closed as he held his stomach, doubling over in his humor. Freia was at his back, hissing and nudging him with her large head but, Harry only grasped at her scales to stay on his feet. He spun around, green eyes wide, his lips pulled into the softest smile. He bit his lower lip, looking past Voldemort, staring at the person that had made him laugh like that. He was beautiful in the sun, his pale skin beginning to tan from all his time out in the February sun. Harry Wildfyre was a fire that had burned Voldemort's reality.

Voldemort's lips parted and his breathing grew shallow. He didn't notice when he lifted his hand to brush against Harry's cheek. He flinched when his finger brushed against the cold glass and the illusion shattered.

The blue eyes returned, staring at him with wide eyes. With soft understanding.

" _Harry Wildfyre is the one you ask of. Harry Wildfyre is the one you do -_ "

Voldemort lifted his chin, staring at the mirror with a sneer.

"Enough," he snarled and then he walked away, cursing those damned blue eyes.

He had a Vow to honor and nothing more.

A Vow.

 **MIRROR**

"Lady Greengrass, my King!"

Draco paused as he polished his knives, laying them out to dry.

"Send her in," Draco commanded.

The door creaked open and Draco's fingers slipped, nearly sliding over the edge of his blade.

Draco stared, slack-mouthed. Daphne Greengrass was a beauty, indeed. She was foreign-looking, just as his betrothed was. Exotic. Tall and thin. But, Daphne Greengrass was not brittle and wraith-like nor did she give off the air of a victim, the air that Draco had smelled around Hermione when he had first seen her. No, Daphne Greengrass was stunning in a thin gown of dark sea green. It just covered her small breasts, exposing the skin between them down to her belly. The skirts flowed around her, long and sheer as water.

"You wanted to see me, your Grace?" Daphne asked, softly.

Draco swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes. Blaise and I are going on a hunting trip but, I just...I wanted to invite you and your family to court after we return. And I'd like to know how you were adjusting."

Daphne bit her bottom lip and nodded, moving forward. "That's very thoughtful, your Grace. I'm adjusting well."

"It must be a great change from the mess that is Arcadia," Draco said, sharply. He leaned forward, his eyes roving over her, hungry. He wondered, briefly, how she would look in red but, decided that she looked far more fetching in green.

"A welcome one. Arcadia is a sad place for a Lady raised as I. I was raised to attend court, your Grace. No place for me, indeed," Daphne murmured as she walked forward, looking at the King's knives. She slowly fell into the sofa, sitting just next to him.

Draco looked down her next, at the valley between her breasts, and then found her eyes again.

"And the home of traitors?" Draco asked. "Is that a place for a Lady?"

Daphne swallowed. "Your Grace...the Longbottoms took me in, initially, to be the wife to Neville. However, they took me closer and included me in their family. But, we were only children when the Lady and Lord Longbottom betrayed your family. We would never."

Draco hummed and lifted his hand, cupping Daphne's cheek. Daphne's eyes fluttered closed and she pressed her cheek against his hand. She looked at him and bit her lower lip.

"And if I wished to make an example out of your brother-ward?" Draco drawled.

Daphne's eyes flashed open and she leaned forward, running her finger over the hilt of Draco's knife, brushing her fingers against his.

"As is your right. You are the King," Daphne murmured. "But...I would beg you to spare him. My brother-ward is a simple man, consumed only with his plants. We do not have the minds for politics."

"Aye, you wouldn't. I've seen few women who do," Draco said, thinking about his most-trusted advisor besides Blaise. His mother had a head for politics. She had once been promised the throne, before being passed over for his mad aunt.

Daphne continued staring at the knife in Draco's hand. It was a finely-crafted instrument, a hilt of steel trapped in gold leafing, and the blade sparkling from the oils he had rubbed up and down the blade. The hilt was curved into the Slytherin 'S'. It was a perfect snake. Draco had always identified more with his Slytherin side than his Malfoy side, no doubt due to his _father._

"Do you like it? It's one of the finest blades in the Empire," Draco bragged.

"It's beautiful! I've heard of your knife-throwing skills, your Grace. Will you show me?" Daphne asked, excitedly.

Draco paused, his eyes widening. He nodded once. He stood up and looked over his shoulder at her. She was leaning forward, all her attention on him. She wasn't worried about politics or his public image like his mother. She wasn't a challenge like Hermione, though he did enjoy the challenge his future lady-wife provided him.

"It's all about the technique and the wrist," Draco babbled, excitedly. "It's very much an art form. The rotation is all that matters. It's quite easy to overthrow and you miss your mask. Adjustments are made with how you hold the knife, where. But, with practice, it's easy as…"

Draco trailed off and threw, aiming for the frozen portrait of Salazar Slytherin, the grandfather he'd never met. His uncle kept him frozen because he didn't want to hear him. The canvas tore loudly as Draco's knife met its mark, embedding deep into Salazar's frozen left eye. Daphne clapped, full of awe.

"Oh, my! Do you hunt this way too? Will you take me hunting?" she asked, grabbing at his arm, pressing against his side. Draco swallowed as he felt all of the warm skin even through his robes. Daphne sighed, shaking her head. "Forgive me, your Grace. A hunt is no place for a Lady."

"My mother hunted and she is as much Lady as a warrior. It isn't unheard of. But, perhaps, Hogsmeade should be our first excursion," Draco corrected, his voice cracking and he turned to look Daphne in the eye again. He took a step forward. "Would you like to try?"

"Yes, please," Daphne said.

" _Accio_ ," Draco said, Summoning the knife. It flew, hilt first towards Daphne. She caught it and stumbled back, laughing, her back pressed against Draco's chest. Draco swallowed and pressed a hand to her waist, and then took her wrist, holding it. Her wrist was so thin. "Now, just enough force…"

"I imagine it must be exciting to throw something here and watch something die over there," Daphne whispered, conspiratorial.

Draco swallowed hard. "Could you do it? Could you kill something?"

"I don't know, your Grace. Do you think I could?" Daphne whispered, turning her face towards him until their lips were only breaths apart. She bit bottom lip and Draco's eyes fell to it as she bit hard enough to draw blood.

He had been wrong. She was lovely in red.

"Yes," Draco rasped.

"Would you like to watch me?" Daphne whispered.

Draco swallowed as he flicked her wrist and she threw it, aiming at Salazar Slytherin's forehead. It landed its mark. Quietly, he whispered, "Yes."

 **MIRROR**

"I, Harry Wildfyre the First of His Name, call my council to order," Harry declared.

He slammed his hand on the table and the council came to order, all turning towards him. Voldemort cleared his throat as he regarded Harry.

"I don't have much time. Narcissa has noticed my frequent 'hunts'," Voldemort said, though not apologetic. Harry nodded in understanding and leaned forward. He knew Voldemort enough to know that he had something to say. "But, I come with words and a request, your Grace."

"Speak them," Harry said, softly.

Voldemort cleared his throat. "I cannot kill Draco."

"What do you mean?" Kingsley rumbled, his eyes narrowed on Voldemort. "You swore to serve our King."

"And I shall. But, I would ask him not to ask me to kill Draco Malfoy. He is my nephew. And blood is all," Voldemort said with eyes only for his King.

Harry stared at him with pursed lips.

"And Narcissa?" Harry asked.

Voldemort's eyes hardened. "Draco didn't betray the blood. Narcissa did. I will end her. But, this is all I will ask of you."

"Why would you ask that? You serve Harry," Ginny retorted.

Voldemort turned crimson eyes onto Ginny. Ginny paled, her freckles stark against her skin, but she refused to back down, staring back. They glowered at each other, the tension so thick that it could only be cut with a steel broadsword. Harry hummed.

"My uncle is no Kinslayer," Tonks said, sharply.

Ginny scoffed and leaned back in his chair. "He slew _my_ kin."

"And he is punished with servitude to me until the end of his days," Harry said, coolly. He looked around the table, and he knew that that didn't satisfy any of the Order members on his council. Bill shifted, awkwardly. "I grant you your request, my Lord. I will kill Draco."

McGonagall cleared her throat and leaned forward, folding her fingers together as she looked around the table. "May I ask, your Grace, why this meeting was called? There aren't any military moves that we can make until the Usurper moves against you. We have called upon alliances and they have not arrived. What do we do?"

"Lord Prewett, Bill asked for this meeting," Harry said, turning to Bill.

Bill winced at his title, as if he still couldn't believe that it was his. Even as his siblings congratulated him, speaking on their pride, he looked like it was all a dream. It was a terrifying dream, if it was one. Harry didn't dream anymore, not unless it involved skin and sex and semen and lust and want.

"We can't pay for this war, your Grace," Bill stated, plainly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Internally, he was panicking. He had never considered the fact that wars costed money. And a lot of it. He didn't have any money. He very much doubted Voldemort could simply waltz into the Hogwarts coffers and steal the amount necessary.

"What do you mean?" Tonks asked.

"We need money to build ships. Money to forge weapons. To feed our soldiers. We're barely making ends meet now. My uncles took out a loan for the refugee camp but, feeding an army of thousands on the scale that Draco does would require more," Bill said.

Voldemort's eyes widened and he nodded as he regarded Bill.

"Your uncles took out a loan? From what bank? What bank would give a loan enough to feed 1500 refugees for almost two decades?" Harry asked.

"The goblins," Voldemort answered before Bill could. Bill nodded in confirmation. "Gringotts Bank is the most powerful and wealthiest bank in the world. It's one of the only banks in the world. We need to borrow from the goblins."

McGonagall scoffed, shaking her head.

"We can't pay back the goblins for the last loan. The Founders' loan was forgiven. Their interest rates are absurd," McGonagall said.

"I've dealt with goblins, as has Lord Prewett, I presume. It's all about negotiation and demonstration of power," Voldemort said, coolly. Harry knew him well enough to see the doubt lingering at the corner of his crimson eyes. "Lord Prewett, his Grace, Nymphadora, and I will go to appeal to the goblins."

"Remus too," Tonks added. Everyone turned to her, wide-eyed. Tonks cleared her throat. "They do not trust wizards. But, if we come with a creature. They will hold more respect. I know this."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Remus was a creature. That was news to him and he briefly wondered what kind of creature he was. A faded memory came to him. _Big Bad Wolf_ , McKinnon had called him. Remus. Before he could think longer on it, he was immersed back into the conversation of logistics.

Gringotts was a two-day ride south from the camp. The Slytherins hadn't had to take out a loan in years, so it was no wonder that they hadn't come across the refugee camp accidentally, especially when Bellatrix had been the Warden of the South.

"So, we ride to Gringotts in three days," Voldemort said, softly.

"Why not sooner?" Kingsley asked in his slow steady voice.

Tonks and Voldemort exchanged looks.

"The final move to secure the Warden of the West's fealty," Tonks said.

Ginny frowned. "Do you know about this, Harry?" she asked, suspiciously. It sounded like Ron's suspicion every time he saw Tonks, Harry, and Voldemort whispering together.

"I do," Harry said. "I agree with the Dark Lord. Three days, we ride to Karnaron. Meeting adjourned."

The council shifted after a moment. Bill and Ginny stood first, murmuring to each other. No doubt they would tell their brothers about what was happening though Harry had faith that they wouldn't say anything terribly important. Madame McGonagall and Kingsley left next, probably speaking logistics about the journey to Gringotts.

"Tonks, will you go tell Charlie and Hagrid to feed Freia for me?" Harry asked.

Tonks raised an eyebrow at the veiled dismissal. She cast a look between Harry and Voldemort before nodding. "Sure, Harry. Come find me later?" she asked.

Harry nodded, absently. He watched as Tonks left the room and slowly moved to sit on the edge of the table, sitting just in front of Voldemort. Voldemort leaned back in his chair, looking up at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

"Sweetling," he drawled.

Harry hummed, leaning forward. " _Melui_ - _âr_."

"Sweet king," Voldemort repeated, softly. "You speak the ancient tongue to me?"

"That's what you call me when you think I sleep," Harry said. " _Melui-âr_. _Füir-âr._ Sweet king. Fire king. You call me sweet things. Do you call me sweet things to your sister, the Warden?"

His eyes were bright with teasing and Voldemort rolled his eyes even as he brushed his fingers against Harry's kneecaps. Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he grabbed Harry's leg and pulled it over so that his legs were spread wide around Voldemort and he stood. Harry nearly fell back in surprise at the sudden movement. Voldemort reveled in how those plump lips parted, his crimson eyes predatory.

"I may have spoken about you. Would you like to know what I've told her?" he hissed.

"Yes," Harry breathed.

Voldemort hummed. "The ancient tongue, _Melui_ - _âr._ " What an enlightening teaching moment this would be.

Harry cleared his throat. " _Goheno nin,_ " Harry breathed, his eyelashes fluttering.

Voldemort laughed. "I told her many things. How you turned me on with your voice. Your face. How your _hûr_ makes me want to do unspeakable things to you. Tell me, sweetling, what is _hûr?"_

"Huh?" Harry hiccupped as he closed his eyes, his hands sliding up Voldemort's arms, to his shoulders. He couldn't remember the last time that Voldemort had allowed him to touch like this.

"This is a lesson, Harry. Don't forget," Voldemort said, leaning forward, brushing his lips against the young man's ear.

"It means...vigor. Fiery spirit," Harry choked out.

"Good," Voldemort purred. "I told her how beautiful you are in the middle of an orgasm. How beautiful you were when I took your _gweneth_. How your laugh is bright and mad like the fire that burns through you. How you're most beautiful when you're in the sun, trying to best me in a spar even though I have decades of experience on you."

Harry's flush spread wider, down his neck. Voldemort knew how far down the blush went. He was the _only_ one that knew.

"You said those things to her, Tom?" Harry whispered, thoughtfully.

"Aye," Voldemort murmured, dragging his fingers across Harry's jaw, pressing them against his plush lips. Harry's lips parted under his touch. "I would fuck you on this table."

"I would let you," Harry whispered. "But, you won't."

"No. I won't," Voldemort agreed, taking a step back. "You think you're _uanui_. Ugly, Harry Potter."

Harry flinched

"You make me feel beautiful. One of the first people to ever say that I was beautiful," Harry whispered quietly. He slid back on the table until he sat in the middle of it and crossed his legs. The space between them felt like leagues instead of feet. "Do you think I'm beautiful, Tom? Not because of what magic tells you, or whatever. But... _me_. Do you think I'm beautiful?"

" _Goheno nin_ ," Voldemort whispered. " _Inwi nwaly ten'ke_."

"What does that mean?" Harry murmured.

 _I ache for you._

Voldemort's lips curled into a smirk. Harry stared at him, thoughtfully, tearing him apart with his eyes. He stripped Voldemort bare to his bones, to Tom Marvolo Slytherin, the boy he had been before the man he had become.

The Dark Lord cleared his throat. "Maybe if you studied more, you'd know. Now, how do you say, _forward march_?"

 **ON**

The carriage made its way through the narrow streets of Hogsmeade. The rocking made Hermione sick to her stomach, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth. Daphne was pressed up against the window while Neville attempted to pull her back into her seat. Draco looked bored, staring out the window as if he'd seen Hogsmeade thousands of times. Hermione imagined he had though, she had never gotten permission to go.

"Oh, your Grace, it's just wonderful. An entire city. Arcadia is so far from anyone and I love people," Daphne said, excitedly. Draco looked at her as if he'd never seen another woman before in his life and Hermione's stomach turned.

Draco had looked at her like that once. The night they had met.

"I'm glad you enjoy it, my Lady," Draco murmured, his voice soft. His voice hadn't even been so soft when he spoke to Pansy.

Daphne leaned forward and her eyes widened. "Stop!" she cried out and the carriage rolled to a stop.

Neville and Draco looked up, alarmed as Daphne threw the door open, grabbed Hermione's hand, and pulled her from the carriage. Hermione squawked in alarm as she stumbled out of the carriage, her silk covered feet landing in a puddle of shit and sludge. Daphne didn't seem to notice how the hem of her dress dragged through mud and piss.

"Daphne, we should have guards. We shouldn't...the King won't be pleased," Hermione insisted and Daphne looked over her shoulder, her eyebrow quirked up in amusement.

"You don't have to do everything the King says, Hermione Granger," Daphne insisted as she tugged Hermione along. "And why do we need guards when we have wands?"

Daphne drew her own wand and Hermione was momentarily distracted by the oddness of it. It was made of a paler wood than Hermione had ever seen before, as if it had been bleached white by the sun, and it was long and crooked. Like a spare branch that had been picked up and fashioned into a wand, though Hermione knew much about wandlore from her studies in Gaul.

"I suppose," Hermione allowed, drawing her own wand. She startled when they turned and were faced with a hulking man with broad shoulders, his face beaten tan by the sun, wrapped in a threadbare cloak. Hermione shivered.

It was February, and though the world grew warmer, it was still winter.

"Pardon me," Hermione said, kindly.

The man looked surprised by her politeness and he stepped aside for the two ladies. They tramped through the mud, ignoring the filth clinging to their hems. Hermione felt a flash of victory. Narcissa and Draco wouldn't be pleased but, it would be no fault of hers. It was all Daphne's idea, and the King seemed to indulge her.

Hermione looked over her shoulder. Draco's pointed face floated in the window, watching through narrow gray eyes. Hermione turned back around and followed Daphne down the alleyway and her eyes widened when she saw the courtyard opening. There were aqueducts suspended in the air, spilling fresh water into a large fountain. Women and children were gathered, all drinking and laughing and socializing. They seemed to fall quiet when their eyes found the two women.

"Lady Granger," one woman whispered with reverence.

"Oh. Hello. You know who I am?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

A child scurried up to her, feet baked brown from exposure, and she clung to her skirts, eyes wide.

"Course we know who ye are, Lady. You're like us," the little girl cried out.

"'Us'?" Hermione repeated.

"Muggleborn children. Muggleborn orphans," an older woman explained. She cleared her throat and held her hands out, a handful of the orphans rushing to her side, peeking behind her to catch a glimpse of the two Ladies. "When they heard that the King was to marry a Muggleborn witch...we were elated. Muggleborns have little power."

"And your role, ma'am?" Daphne asked, curiously as she walked along the edges of the courtyard, seemingly oblivious to the stares.

"I teach them. Raise 'em best as I can. Not everyone has tutors for these things," the woman said.

"Aye. I taught most of my magic to myself. Through books and learning," Hermione agreed and the woman cleared her throat.

"We don't have much of those, my Lady, and wands are expensive. Three to a wand is how we go about these things," the woman said.

Hermione's heart beat faster. She'd never heard of a witch or wizard without their own wand. It sounded barbaric. And no books. She looked over at Daphne. Daphne looked at her, thoughtfully, before she turned back to the children and ushered them to her and pulled out her wand for them to fawn over. She began to speak to them quietly, drawing a little boy to her chest, whispering words of encouragement. She was a proper Lady, the kind Hermione would never be.

Hermione turned back to the older woman. "I don't have much coin but, I will appeal to the King and the Dark Lord on matters of getting these children wands and learning materials. They are not sympathetic to our kind, it is true, but I will do all that I can," Hermione swore. The little girl that clung to her skirts cheered and she looked down at her, swallowing.

"One day, I will be a smart Lady like _you_ , Lady Granger," the little girl said, grinning her gap-toothed smile.

"No. Don't be a Lady. It's not all it seems," Hermione said, softly. "Be a scholar. Learn all you can."

"Aye, my Lady," the little girl said, distractedly, running off to watch Daphne.

Daphne was using her wand, twisting the water through the air, freezing it and making it dance as the children clapped. She sang softly, in a familiar ancient language that Hermione nearly recognized.

" _A Wyrdfod Raw_

 _I chîn a thûl lin míriel_

 _Fanuilos le linnathon_

 _Ne ndor haer thar i aearon,_ " Daphne sang.

Hermione leaned forward and gasped when the older woman stepped forward, enfolding her in a tight hug, distracting her.

"Oh!" Hermione murmured.

"Thank you, my Lady. I can't thank ye enough. Thank ye, thank ye. Bless you, my Lady," the woman wept into her ear and Hermione patted her back, awkwardly, nodding. She wondered how the woman was so comfortable hugging her, even as Hermione's bony sides dug into her arms.

Hermione cleared her throat and smiled, stepping back as Daphne straightened, kissing the top of all the children's heads.

"Return?" Daphne prompted.

Hermione nodded, and the two women began to walk, arm in arm. The children followed after Daphne, begging and crying for more of a show. Daphne laughed and began to twist her wand in the air, absentmindedly, Summoning water. Hermione watched in wonder as she manipulated the elements with little thought.

"Know this, Lady Granger, there is power in your Muggle blood. More power than Draco Malfoy will ever have," Daphne murmured into her ear, resting her cheek on Hermione's shoulder even as she entered the children.

"What kind of power do I possess against the King?" Hermione challenged.

"Compassion," Daphne breathed.

Hermione's eyes widened and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips.

All the while, the King and the Lord of House Longbottom watched the two woman. Nervously, Neville straightened his jerkin and cleared his throat. Draco turned a pointed glare on the round-faced man, his thin lips pursed in anticipation.

"My sister is lovely, isn't she?" Neville asked. Draco winced but, didn't say anything, waiting and anticipating. Neville hid his surprise. "Compassionate and kind. The people of Arcadia love her. She is much like this, flitting about, helping and assisting. We call her the jewel of the sea."

"Why?" Draco barked, turning his eyes back onto Daphne's oddly beautiful face, tinged nearly green, her strange wide eyes, her interestingly turned nose.

Not beautiful-not like Hermione could be if she wasn't so thin and dark-eyed-but, indeed, attractive. Lovely was a fitting description.

"Her eyes are the color of a dying sea."

 **THE**

"Out! Out! I won't have little wizarding bastards in my house!"

Colin and Dennis Creevey scrambled to do as their stepmother bid. It had become too much. Their stepmother was not forgiving of wizards, a sentiment that was spreading throughout Karnaron after the attempted tax of the Muggles, and their father was no help in the matter, still mourning the loss of their mother.

Colin tugged his younger brother closer, looping his arm around his shoulders.

"Where do we go now, Colin?" Dennis asked. Colin forced a smile on his face, tousling the younger boy's hair. He hadn't hit his growth spurt yet.

"We walk, I guess. Until we hit a village. And then we'll find a place to sleep," he said as cheerfully as he could manage.

Perhaps, they would hit a few cottages first. Someone might be able to spare something to eat, especially if they were wizarding folk like he and his brother. They wouldn't be purebloods either. Purebloods were all of the great Houses. They would be decent half-blood folks, or even more Muggleborns, who would treat them much better than their stepmother.

Sometimes, Colin forgot how it was to be treated like a person.

"Okay, Colin. But, I'm a little hungry," Dennis insisted.

Colin forced a laugh. "Dennis, you're twelve! You shouldn't whine like a little kid."

"I'm _not_ a little kid," Dennis retorted but he only squirmed closer to Colin's side. He knew that they could only rely on each other.

They were too far out into Karnaron for the forests to really be considered the Forbidden Forest but, the woods were still dangerous. There was a civil war going on, though only whispers of it had reached or affected the Creevey's small cottage.

Colin hummed. There was definitely a city to the south. Godric's Hollow was far but, probably only a fortnight of a walk. If they could find small shelters to sleep and kind people then they could make it.

But, the woods were cold. Colin shuddered as the wind whistled, shaking the branches above. Dennis burrowed deeper into his side.

Colin wasn't sure how long they walked but, when they finally stopped to rest, the sun was high in the sky. It was mid-afternoon. Colin's eyes narrowed as he stared deep into the woods, towards the parting of the trees and when they stepped through, his eyes widened.

A cottage.

A welcoming plume of smoke erupted from a single chimney and the half-door wide open up top. Dennis whined softly at the delicious smells emerging and Colin pushed his brother forward, drawn to the smell. A lovely voice floated from the home and Colin and his brother peeked, eyes narrowed.

The woman was tall and had generous curves draped in beautiful black clothing. They were clearly well-made and she had light hair that spilled down her back. Her skin was pale and her nose aristocratic. The most striking thing about her was her violet eyes, bright with mirth, as she set the meat pie down on the table, using her crooked light-colored wand.

Suddenly, she turned and Colin and Dennis were pinned to their spot. Her lips widened into a wide smile.

"Such pretty children. Welcome to our home. We are Trixie. Would you like to come in?"

 **WALL**

Voldemort slowly shut the door to Andromeda's rooms. The servants were missing though the teapot steamed on the little table between the two grand wooden seats. Voldemort recognized those chairs. His mother had had them last, in her sitting area.

Andromeda waited for him, prim and proper, her broadsword resting across her lap, as if she were ready to pass judgment. Voldemort lifted his chin. He knew that this was his last chance and, it was good that he saved his trump card for the very last time.

"Brother," Andromeda said, coldly.

"Sister," Voldemort said, coolly, strolling in and he sat down at the table. He slowly pressed the envelope to the table and slid it over, taking up the tea instead.

He wished it was wine. He always did Andromeda the courtesy of providing wine when their little battles were in his territory.

"Why have you come to me again, Brother? Another push to get me to bend the knee to a boy that I don't know?" Andromeda drawled.

Voldemort hummed. "I come bearing news and a gift. First, I will be leaving today. I go to Gringotts with the Prince of Gryffindor, to secure a loan. I would ask for the key to the Gryffindor vault," Voldemort said, holding out his hand and Andromeda raised an eyebrow.

"Why would I have it?" she drawled.

She wasn't particularly unconvincing.

"Because you aren't as cunning as you think you are. I know you took it when you ran. Out of misplaced loyalty to our long lost cousin," Voldemort hissed, his eyes brightening and Andromeda's lips curled into a sneer.

"Our cousin isn't lost. You locked him away in Azkaban, you prick," Andromeda said, nastily.

"Watch your language, _little sister_ ," Voldemort bit out.

Andromeda snorted. "I'm a woman grown, Tom Marvolo."

"Call me that one more time and I'll rip your tongue out, woman," Voldemort retorted, though his voice lacked any of the previous malice his name may have stirred in him.

Andromeda's lifted an eyebrow. Of course, she noticed that.

"You no longer have an aversion to your true name?" she asked.

"I never-"

"I taste your emotions, brother. I am not a fool. You felt such shame. _Tom_. A common name made for common boys. But, Harry is a common name too, isn't it? That's what he is called. Harry Wildfyre. Tom Kingmaker. What a match," Andromeda taunted and Voldemort took a deep breath, centering himself as he felt his fury freeze over into something murderous.

"The key, Andromeda," Voldemort prompted.

Andromeda lifted her wand and Summoned a pouch to her. She opened it and pulled out a small ring of keys. The key to Helga's vault, a great bronze thing, a key to the Hogwarts coffers, and finally, a key to Godric's vaults. Slowly, she pulled the key off and tossed it across the table.

"Anything else, brother?" Andromeda sighed.

Voldemort finished the tea, not minding how it scalded his tongue.

"I said I have a gift," he murmured sliding the envelope to her.

Andromeda picked up the plain envelope, raising an eyebrow.

"What is this?" she snapped.

"Turn it over," he commanded.

Andromeda rolled her eyes and froze when she saw the seal. The seal of Slytherin. She knew that only someone of their blood could use such a thing.

"Voldemort," she said, heavily.

"This is a letter from your daughter, Nymphadora Tonks, pleading that you bend the knee to the King, Harry Wildfyre. She explains her story to you and explains the boy to you. If you cannot trust me, trust her," Voldemort said, carefully. He slowly stood from his chair and looked at her.

She was still frozen, staring down at the letter, the parchment shaking her hands. Her hands were shaking. She was too afraid to open it.

"I will tell you one more time," Voldemort murmured. "Bend the knee."

With finality, he spun on his heel and left the room, Disappearing with a sharp crack as he crossed the threshold. He appeared by the gates that led to Karnaron, the South, his stallion waiting just as Severus had promised. Voldemort cleared his throat as he mounted his horse. He looked over his shoulder at the only home he had ever known.

Hogwarts.

It would always be home but, Voldemort knew that a time was coming. A time where he wouldn't see the castle until they won. He longed for that day.

He looked up and saw _her._

Narcissa Godkiller stared from her window. He was too far to see her expression but, he could imagine her thoughts: _What are you doing? Where are you going? Why do you leave? When do you come back?_

It was all she had asked when she was young, eager to prove herself. She had proved herself. She had to proved to be an enemy and a formidable one at that.

Voldemort's lips curled into a terrible smile as he lifted his wand and the gates parted, creaking open.

 _Narcissa Godkiller, what do you see when you look in the mirror? A god?_

 _I see a monster and you were never in the business of killing monsters._

 **WHO**

Gabrielle sighed. She had never been happier than she was with Fenrir in his chateau. Every morning, she woke up in a plush bed stuffed with goose feathers and covered in velvet. She rose with the sun and washed, dressed in the fine clothing that Fenrir presented to her. Then, she went to eat breakfast, freshly baked bread. Every morning. Fresh bread. She never had to eat week-old bread, as she had at the shop. There wasn't any mending either.

Only books. After she shared her breakfast with Fenrir, he would go to the city to do his work at _Manoir_ while Gabrielle read all day. She went to the library, the gorgeous library that had hundreds of books and read. She poured over Fenrir's travel journals and his maps, gorging on all of the knowledge. When he returned, he would join her and would tell her the tales that he hadn't recorded. They learned one another. She learned how he enjoyed hunting, and how he had actually come from Albion but, had found that the Republic was better for his political ambitions.

Every night, a decadent meal was prepared by house elves, and Gabrielle feasted better than she had her whole life. She would tell him tales that he hadn't known and they laughed and joked and sometimes, he kissed her by the fire, but never like he had the first night.

Sometimes, Gabrielle missed her sister.

Other times, she forgot about Fleur entirely.

"Gabrielle, come. This way. I nearly forgot. The reason that I asked you to come here," Fenrir laughed as he drew her deeper into the library. Gabrielle bit her lower lip as she felt his enormous hand encase hers.

Their hands were both calloused and sure. Hard work had been done with their hands.

"The topographical map!" Gabrielle said, fighting her smile and she nodded. Her palms were clammy, her fingers sticky with the sweets that she gorged herself on.

Fenrir nodded as he drew her into the map room. Old and newer maps were pasted to the walls, connected by red strings that reminded Gabrielle of the stories of the Fateborn. The ones that got names at their birth. Like Narcissa Godkiller and Andromeda Empath.

In the center of the room, on an enormous table was a topographical map. It was gorgeous and old. The sloping hills of Essetir were raised in painted wood. The mountain peaks of the North jutted into the air. The painted blue that represented the Narrow Sea was bridged only by the tiny bridge that was meant to be the Narrow Sea, leading to Afallon. Gabrielle hadn't realized she gasped as she circled it all, her fingers brushing over the markings of all the rivers and lakes and ponds and forests that made up the Albion Empire.

The map was longer than she was tall, and six times as wide as she.

What a world, separated by a sea and a thousand years.

"It's...it's beautiful," Gabrielle whispered, her voice cracking.

"You are," Fenrir said.

Gabrielle flushed, looking up at Fenrir. "Fenrir…" she said.

"It isn't because you're Veela, either," Fenrir growled.

Gabrielle flinched. The knowledge had been unspoken between them.

"I'm not…"

"Don't lie to me, Gabrielle," Fenrir said, his voice dangerously low. It was the first time that she had heard darkness from him and her eyes widened at it, her skin turning ashen. Fenrir's eyes softened. "We shouldn't lie to one another, is all I mean."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Fenrir," Gabrielle said, quietly. She looked away, turning back to the map.

It was easier to look at the place she longed for. She traced over the edges of Afallon, her other hand reaching far, brushing the edges of Godric's Hollow.

"You've always been fascinated with Afallon, the most," Fenrir said, quietly.

Gabrielle looked up, wide-eyed. "I've always wanted to be like Andromeda Empath. She's the Warden of the West. Good and just and empathetic and powerful."

"Are any of the Slytherins 'good'?" Fenrir challenged.

"Are any of us good either?" Gabrielle retorted and she swallowed taking a step back. "I only know that killing people that are different is wrong. People like us."

"People like us," Fenrir murmured and he stepped up, pressing his hands to Gabrielle's shoulder, sliding his hand down Gabrielle's arm and grabbing her hand. He pressed it to the hollow that was the middle of the Empire, stretching so far that Gabrielle's arm ached.

"That is where Hogwarts should be," Gabrielle said, softly, pressing to the hollow where the castle of Hogwarts should've been carved, in the middle of the Four Directions, the major roadways that led into the Forbidden Forest and broke into the thousands of roads that made up Albion's infrastructure.

"It is," Fenrir allowed.

Gabrielle hummed and then paused as her fingers brushed something round and cold. Her hand closed around it and when she pulled back, she gasped.

It was a simple ring. Steel, like the edge of a blade, or a needle. Gabrielle had no need for frivolous jewels. But, this ring. This _ring_.

"Fenrir," Gabrielle whispered.

"People like us...there are none like us. But us. I would ask you to be my wife, Gabrielle Delacour," Fenrir growled.

Gabrielle paused, thinking on his request. It hadn't been a question. He had phrased it as if he were longing for her, as if he couldn't possibly contemplate her saying no. As if he couldn't bear it. Gabrielle swallowed. This man-this rough, animalistic man-saw her for who she was and wanted to take her as his wife anyway. He wanted _her._

"Aye. Then, I would take you for a husband, Fenrir Greyback."

 **IS**

"The goblins are a clever people but, not the most friendly," Bill said, softly. "I've made plenty of deals with the Goblin King and Gringotts as has the Dark Lord. Respect goes far."

Harry nodded as they approached the great stone building between the parted trees. The Gringotts Bank was enormous and snow-white. It was intimidating and Harry squirmed in the battle robes that Tonks had dressed him in. Tonks squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. Harry hadn't realized that he had stalled until she tugged him forward and he stumbled after her. Voldemort caught him by the waist and squeezed hard.

Harry flushed.

Remus cleared his throat. "Do they know we're coming?" Remus asked.

"They have heard rumors about the Prince of Gryffindor. I wrote to them and they accepted our meeting. I don't suspect that they know of the Dark Lord's presence," Bill said.

Voldemort tilted his head as he regarded Bill. "So, Gringotts has been dealing with the enemy as well? They are a clever people indeed," Voldemort said.

Bill flushed, embarrassed.

"We are no longer enemies, Uncle. We are all on the same side," Tonks snapped roughly as she pulled up her crimson hood and moved forward again, Harry at her side.

They walked up the steps and nearly crossed the threshold when two spears crossed in front of them. Harry blinked madly at the two tall goblins, nearly his height. They were dressed in scarlet and gold, their faces mean and swarthy.

"We come to seek an audience with the Goblin King," Bill said, standing tall, without a hint of nerves and Harry bit his lower lip, glad that he had chosen his council well. Even if he was nervous, he could trust them not to be.

"Who seeks an audience?" the goblin snarled.

"Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, the true King-Emperor of Albion," Tonks hissed back, pulling her wand.

Harry winced as he felt something heavy and oppressive emerge. It was like Voldemort's magic but, sharper. He glanced at Voldemort but Voldemort only stared at his niece, a glint of surprise in his crimson eyes. The goblins slowly moved their spears upright and nodded.

"Enter," the other goblin said.

The doors swung open and a short entrance hall crafted of marble led to the second pair of doors, this time silver. There were words engraved there:

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there._

"Has anyone ever stolen from Gringotts?" Harry asked, curiously.

Voldemort hummed. "Once."

"Who?" Remus asked, nearly in awe.

"Harry's grandfather. The great King Gideon. He stole the Sword of Gryffindor. Just as my father stole the Sword of the North. The Sword that once had a name," Voldemort said, coolly and he looked at Harry with raised eyebrow. "It is good that the sword is lost. They would ask for it back."

"I would not give it," Harry snapped.

Voldemort hummed and moved forward, waving his wand. The doors creaked open, revealing a vast marble hall, the floors made of gray stone. The long marble counters were empty except for one that a particularly gnarled dwarf sat at. Bill pointed towards a wide tunnel.

"That way," Bill said.

"No. I have something on hold," Voldemort murmured. Remus and Tonks exchanged disbelieving looks as Voldemort strode forward, snatching Harry's hand from Tonks'. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and pushed him forward, nearly trodding on Harry's heels. "It is for you."

"Me?" Harry asked. "I come here because I don't have any money. There is nothing here for me."

"There is but one," Voldemort promised and he looked at the goblin with narrowed eyes. "Bogrod."

"The Dark Lord Voldemort," the goblin creaked back, nastily, his eyes narrowed. "Have you come to torture more goblins into submission?"

"Come now, Bogrod, I have been kind in letting you live after the many times you have slighted me. We should part as friends once more if you'd like to keep your life," Voldemort hissed and he leaned forward, his red eyes glinting. "There is something you have on hold for me. I'd like it."

Bogrod grinned a horrible grin, full of malice, and pulled forth a box from under the counter, sliding it forward. "Crown your pretty prince."

Harry's eyes widened as Voldemort opened the box and revealed a beautifully delicate crown crafted out of silver and steel made to look like branches and red ruby teardrops like leaves. Voldemort lifted the crown and pressed it to Harry's head. It circled the back of his head, curling over his ears and Voldemort took him by the chin.

"I would be the one to crown my King," Voldemort murmured.

"Did you...whose crown is this, Tom?" Harry whispered, his voice cracking.

Voldemort's lips twitched. "It would have been your mother's."

Harry opened his mouth and let out a quiet breath. He raised shaking fingers to the steel and silver, brushing his fingers over it.

"Thank you," he breathed and he took a step back. The Fire in his belly roared and he closed his eyes, thinking of Freia. He opened his eyes again and his breath caught when he saw the soft look in Voldemort's eyes.

"Harry. The Goblin King doesn't like to wait," Bill called, his voice hard.

Harry jerked back and looked towards Tonks, Bill, and Remus. Bill looked annoyed. Tonks, understanding. And Remus looked hurt. A flash of irritation crashed through Harry's body like a wave. Remus had ignored him for the longest time. Remus could barely make eye contact. He had no reason to judge him. Harry turned back to the empty tunnel and nodded.

"It's time," Harry said, his voice cold.

He strode forward, Bill and Voldemort flanking him on either side. Tonks stood just behind Voldemort and Remus stood next to her, their wands drawn. Another set of goblin guards waited at the end of the dark corridor, flanking a pair of ivory doors. They didn't question Harry and his circle. This time, the doors swung open for them, revealing a round meeting room.

There were two long marble counters again but they were filled, twice as high as Harry. At least fifteen goblins filled the room but, Harry only watched on.

Ragnuk the Goblin King was intimidating in goblin steel, a crown of iron on his head. Harry knew that the Goblin King was no true King but, he also knew that he was in place to try to take the crown off his head. The goblins ruled themselves well.

"Presenting his Eminence, the Great Goblin King Ragnuk, Lord of Steel, Iron, and Gold, the Chosen of the Goblin Hordes," a goblin announced.

"Thank you, Griphook," the Goblin King growled. He leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. "The Dark Lord Voldemort comes before me. What brings you before me today? A loan for your sister's war?"

"No. I come in support of the true King of Albion," Voldemort said, gesturing towards Harry.

Harry stepped forward when Tonks held out her hand, stepped forward, her eyes flashing. She slowly lowered her hood and lifted her head.

"Nymphadora Tonks," the goblin announcer rasped.

The goblins broke into whispers and Harry stared at Tonks with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"Griphook. Goblins of the Horde, you sit in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, and the Fairest of Them All," Tonks announced and Harry swallowed as she read his titles. The Goblin King looked at Harry and hummed, leaning forward.

"You are fair indeed," the Goblin King rumbled.

Harry flushed and nodded. "Thank you, your Eminence," Harry said, his voice soft yet strong. "Have you heard of me?"

"Your name is a whisper on many's lips. A prayer and a curse, Harry Wildfyre," Ragnuk allowed. He leaned forward, folding long fingers together. "They speak of your fire and your beauty in equal measure."

"As they should," Bill said, firmly.

"William Weasley, you come for another loan though you cannot pay your last. You are lucky your uncles are dead and thus, the contract is void. I should have your entire family destroyed," Ragnuk snarled with malice even as Bill flinched.

"Lord Prewett," Harry corrected, his voice stronger. "I have named his Lord of House Prewett and he is my Lord of Coin. I would demand the same respect for him as I have shown you, your Eminence. From the moment I have arrived, your subjects have insulted and patronized my most loyal. I would expect respect."

The Goblin King regarded Harry with sudden interest and he leaned forward, eyes wide.

"So, little prince, what is you want?" the Goblin King asked.

Harry lifted his chin. He didn't look back at Voldemort, keeping his eyes trained on Ragnuk. His shrewd eyes were nearly mocking.

"My birthright. The Albion Empire," Harry declared sharply.

The goblins all looked at each other with dark eyes, lips pulled back into smarmy grins, exposing their sharp pointed teeth. The smugness of it all made Harry vibrate with irritation. He felt a hand press to the small of his back in warning. Harry took a deep breath. Voldemort was right. There was a time and place for fury. This was not it.

"I fear we are no better than a servant in this regard. We cannot give you what we do not have," Ragnuk drawled and Harry cleared his throat, taking a step closer. He disregarded the shifting goblin guards, their weapons glinting dangerously.

"I'm not asking you for the empire. I'm asking you for gold. A loan," Harry said. "I need coin to feed and clothe my armies, to forge weapons, to create alliances, to build ships. Whatever you grant me now will be repaid three times over when I retake the Gilded Throne."

Ragnuk laughed again, shaking his head. "Retake? Did you once sit on the Gilded Throne, little prince?"

"My grandfather sat there, before he was murdered. That throne belonged to my mother. _He_ will tell you the same," Harry barked, gesturing towards the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Ragnuk turned his black gaze on the Dark Lord. Voldemort didn't flinch under his gaze.

"Oh, we know all about the Dark Lord. Slytherins always repay their debts, but do you?" Ragnuk asked, softly. His gaze was curious, as all of their gazes were. They always wondered what was it about the pretty little prince that could sway the Dark Lord away from his horde of sisters. It was always there in their eyes. Harry's lips curled into a snarl. "You did not sit on the Gilded Throne yourself, nor did your mother. So, if this is true, would it not be correct to say 'take' the Gilded Throne?"

"We aren't here to argue grammar," Voldemort snapped. Harry winced. It was the first time he had spoken the entire time and he sounded less than pleased by the way this was going.

"Of course not, my Lord," Ragnuk said. It didn't escape Harry's notice that the goblins addressed the Dark Lord with the respect Harry himself deserved. "You ask for a loan. Wars are expensive, little prince. I do not doubt your honesty. Nor your intentions. But, before you could even think of repaying your debts, you would have to take control of the empire. Do you have an army?"

"I have the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters," Harry said, firmly.

Ragnuk hummed, as if he were _nearly_ impressed. "A band of traitors and the Dark Lord's knights. But, not an army. The King Draco has an army of 40,000 and counting. His naval forces are large. 6000 ships. Do you have powerful allies?"

"The Dark Lord," Harry said.

"One ally," Ragnuk drawled.

The entire goblin board broke into hissing sounds. It only took a moment for Harry to realize that they were _laughing_ at him.

"Forgive us, little prince, but we do not make investments based on wishes and dreams. You may leave," Ragnuk dismissed.

Harry took a step forward. "I will not-" Harry began.

"Do you know Pandora?" Tonks demanded.

Voldemort stiffened.

Ragnuk fell quiet. "Yes," he breathed. "A powerful witch."

"Pandora foresaw his coming. She gave her daughter a stone that she gave to the Dark Lord," Tonks said, pointedly, nodding. Harry cleared his throat

"At my lowest point, I set my world afire without a wand and birthed a dragon from petrified stone. A _dragon_. The last time dragons roamed the skies, the Founders slayed them all. _I_ did that. I am not ordinary man," Harry declared angrily.

Ragnuk stared at him with a strange look. He leaned forward. "Fire? You control fire? And you have a dragon?"

"Yes," Harry said, firmly.

"Wyrdfod," Ragnuk breathed, softly.

"What was that, Ragnuk?" Voldemort barked.

Ragnuk fell back into his chair, shaking his large bald head. "I admire your passion. But, in business, I trust in logic, not passion. I am sorry, little prince."

Harry's lips curled back into a snarl.

"I am _not_ your little prince," he hissed. "I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions and Protector of the Realm, and I will take what is mine! With fire and _blood_."

And for the first time, Ragnuk looked like he believed him. The Goblin King leaned back in seat, folding his long fingers together.

"Strong words, Harry Wildfyre," Ragnuk said.

Harry lifted his chin. "I can get allies. The Warden of the West will bend the knee to me. Alfheim comes to my aid."

"Is that so?" Ragnuk laughed. "Well, then, Harry Wildfyre, if the Lady Warden of the West bends the knee to you, and you secure Alfheim, we will grant you your loan and our undying _support_ of your claim."

Harry smiled, brightly. "Done."

 **FAIREST**

"You are a _reckless_ little fool. _You're_ not the one that will get the support of the Warden of the West. You're not the one that will destroy relations with the goblins if you can't c-" Voldemort ranted as they left the great white stone building.

He was cut off by soft, red lips pressed against his. As if on instinct, Voldemort looped an arm around Harry's waist and crushed him against his body, kissing him back. Harry sucked on his lower lip before stumbling away, laughing, his eyes bright. He ignored the looks on Bill and Remus' face, instead looking up at Voldemort. Harry reached out again, greedily, pulling their faces together.

This time, the kiss was sweeter. Soft and longing, full of breathy noises. Harry pulled back again, his eyes soft as he looked up at Voldemort. Harry bit his lower lip, as if he realized what he had just done. Voldemort's arm tightened around him as they looked at each other and simply breathed the same air. Voldemort opened his mouth to berate Harry and then shut it again, as if he couldn't think of anything cutting to say.

"You worry too much," Harry said, his voice soft before he pulled away with an air of finality and turned to Remus and Bill. Remus stared at him with disapproval, Bill with shock. Harry looked at Tonks. "I can do this. We can do this. Your mother will bend the knee."

"She will," Tonks said, earnestly, so loyal as she always was.

"We will secure Alfheim and move the camp to the safety of Afallon," Harry said, earnestly. He turned to his followers and nodded, his eyes wide with hope. "The goblins will support us. Once we have the support of Gringotts, Alfheim, and all of Afallon, it is only a matter of time until I sit on the Gilded Throne."

"There is a long, bloody war between you and the Gilded Throne, Harry," Remus reminded him and Harry nodded in agreement as he strode forward towards his horse, mounting it.

Gringotts was a two-day ride away from the camp. There was no time to lose. There was planning to be done.

"Aye, there is. And I intend to win it," Harry said as he squeezed his thighs. His horse trotted forward over to Voldemort as the Dark Lord mounted his horse. Harry leaned over, curious about the look in his eyes. "What is it, Tom?"

"Why did you do that?" Voldemort asked as they began to trot into the forest, Bill, Tonks, and Remus mounted their horses, speaking softly amongst themselves. They were no doubt gossiping.

"Do what?" Harry asked innocently.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "You are reckless, not stupid and certainly not hard of hearing."

"Oh, you mean...why I kissed you?" Harry teased, his eyes bright with mirth. "Does it matter?"

"I think it does. You go around kissing every man?" Voldemort asked, reaching forward and grabbing the reins of Harry's horse, dragging him closer until their horses walked together, in step. Harry breathed softly, eyes wide.

"No. Of course not," Harry whispered, all mirth gone. Voldemort's eyes blazed as he searched his face for something. "I just...I wanted to."

"You wanted to?" Voldemort repeated.

"You aren't hard of hearing either, Tom," Harry retorted, flushing as he looked away. He sighed, softly. "I wanted to."

"Have you ever wanted to?" Voldemort asked, his voice soft. "Truly wanted to?"

 _Inwi nwaly ten'ke_.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Not before you."

 **OF**

"Come on! Come on, Dennis!" Colin shrieked, breathing heavily as they ran through the dense woods, eyes stricken wide in terror.

The woman had seemed so nice. Odd since she spoke as if she were many, but she was beautiful with purple eyes, and light hair spilling out from under her cloak hood. She had tried to teach them magic and Conjured up so many sweets and good food for them, stuffing their bellies and minds with food and knowledge. And then, the knife had come out and she had been demanding Dennis' help in tieing Colin up so that she could eat his _heart._

Colin's stomach warred between terror and revulsion as they ducked under long hanging tree branches and leaped over roots. Dennis' foot caught and he let out a yelp. Colin pulled him tighter, yanking him up for he could crash into the dirt ground.

Colin looked over his shoulder.

He couldn't see her but, he could feel her. Her magic was restrained but it lashed out, searching for him, stalking him. Colin yelped as a spell crashed over his head that he ducked under.

"Colin! I-I can't...I can't," Dennis panted, softly.

"You've got to. She'll kill us!" Colin insisted. His eyes narrowed at the parting between the trees.

Dennis was practically wheezing. Another red jet of magic shot over their heads, scorching a tree. The sound of talking began to grow louder. "People! People, Dennis!"

Dennis seemed to speed up at his brother's words and pulled ahead, brows furrowed in concentration and then, they were crashing into the light, falling to their knees and panting, loudly.

"Help!" Colin wheezed.

He looked up and then froze, his terror multiplied.

Dark crimson eyes stared down at him from an angular face. The Dark Lord Voldemort was a handsome man indeed. The end of his wand was less so, even as it glowed green. Colin roll on top of Dennis, covering him and squeezed his eyes shut. He prepared to meet his death.

"Tom."

The voice was soft and beautiful, lilting. Colin's eyes opened slowly and the Dark Lord drew back to the side of the speaker, sitting down on the log at his side. Colin stared, his jaw unhinging.

"Hello," he said.

He was the most beautiful person that Colin had ever seen in his life. He was pale with thick black hair wild around his face. Large green eyes were set into his pleasing face, and his lips were plush and red as blood. Slowly, he stood, setting down a bowl of a red broth that looked like blood. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stared, curiously.

"Who are you?" Dennis whispered, his voice muffled by the dirt. Colin rolled off his younger brother and sat up on his knees, waiting with bated breath.

"I am Harry," the man said.

"You look too pretty to be a Harry," Dennis said, and then flushed, humiliated.

Harry tossed his head back and laughed, shaking with his humor. Colin looked around at Harry's companions. The Dark Lord stayed at his side, moving when he moved. There were two more men, an ash-haired man, and a young redheaded man. And a woman with bright _pink_ hair, her dress low enough to expose the swell of her breasts. Colin flushed when the woman winked at him, noticing his staring.

"Well, thank you," Harry murmured. "I am sorry that the Dark Lord frightened you. You need help?"

"Harry," the Dark Lord warned.

"Tom," Harry responded back, teasingly.

The Dark Lord rolled his eyes and cuffed Harry on the chin, tilting his head up, his expression indecipherable. Harry's lips curled into a wide smile and he stepped back and turned towards the two boys, kneeling down in front of them.

"Harry," the pink-haired woman drawled. "You have food to finish."

Harry waved her away. "I'd much rather find out who these charming boys are than finish a bowl of clotted blood and dried lion meat, thank you very much," Harry drawled and he smiled, sweetly. "What are your names?"

"C-Colin Creevey. And my little brother, Dennis," Colin stammered. He pulled Dennis closer into his side. "We were...we were leaving home and we came across this lady and she was really nice. But, then...she wanted to _eat_ us."

"Lamia," the ash-haired man said. The group turned back and stared. "Sounds like a lamia. Lamia eat children."

"We're not kids! I'm twelve and Colin is thirteen," Dennis protested and then he flushed again, hiding his face in Colin's shoulder. Harry smiled, sweetly and reached forward, grabbing his hand.

"I know. I'm glad that you found us. We'll protect you," Harry insisted, and Colin could see the swords that were gathered near the horses tied to the trees, the battle armor that the party wore and Colin leaned forward.

"Who...who are you?" he whispered.

Harry grinned. "I'm Harry Wildfyre, of Houses Gryffindor and Potter. I'm the Fairest of Them All."

And in the darkness of the trees, Bellatrix Slytherin watched, her eyes following the Fairest as he pulled the two boys to their feet and drew them closer to the fire. Bellatrix watched her twin brother, the one she had known since they were nothing but seed, water, and blood, follow him, his crimson eyes staring at Harry Wildfyre like he was the sun, blinding but beautiful. Bellatrix's stomach turned as Voldemort- _her brother_ \- leaned down to whisper in Harry Wildfyre's ear.

The Fairest was beautiful, indeed, and Voldemort had always adored beautiful things.

And though Bellatrix looked young once more, she now knew what she looked like when she was close to death-nothing but skin and hate and bones. She knew what she looked when she was _ugly_ and she still was ugly. Unlike this beautiful, beautiful young man that drew the eyes of everyone, that entranced them so much that they didn't notice her watching.

Harry Wildfyre. The Fairest of Them All.

Bellatrix's lips curled into a terrible smile.

 _I will make you ugly, too._

 **THEM**

"Daphne, darling, you are quite stunning," Pansy simpered as she fixed her tea, taking a sip of it and humming in approval.

Hermione watched the two from the corner of her eye even as she tried to focus all of her attention on fixing herself a cuppa. Ever since Daphne had been summoned to court with her brother, she had been the center of attention. They had accepted her immediately in a way that they hadn't with her. Pansy, Millicent Bulstrode, and their sycophants all fawned over her, even as Daphne practically ignored them.

Hermione wasn't sure if she envied Daphne or pitied the poor girl.

"Thank you. You've said. Many times," Daphne said, her voice carefully soft. Pansy flushed as she was reminded again. Daphne's lips twitched.

Narcissa looked up from her books, looking between all of the girls.

"Girls, needlework," Narcissa instructed carefully.

The girls nodded and pretended to go back to their needlework but, Hermione was the only one that continued to sew. It was a cloak for Draco, and only his betrothed should work on it-according to Narcissa, after all. She was working on the stitchwork for the snake sigil but, Hermione's forte had never been sewing.

"Oh, Daphne, the King seems quite taken by you. He watches you in court. And how could he not? You are just to his taste. Noble, beautiful, and compassionate," Pansy drawled on, shooting a poisonous smile to Hermione.

Hermione's fingers shook and she cursed quietly when she pricked her finger.

"Hermione?" Daphne asked, worriedly.

"Nothing," Hermione said shakily, pressing her bleeding finger to her mouth, sucking it clean. She ignored Narcissa's icy stare.

"Is stitchwork not to your forte, Lady Granger? Perhaps, Daphne should work on the King's cloak. She's quite good," Millicent interjected.

Hermione's jaw clenched. She wanted to show Millicent just how good _she_ was with a wand.

"Enough," Narcissa barked. Millicent and Pansy looked up, eyes wide like startled toddlers. "Lady Granger is the King's betrothed. You shan't shame her by speaking of another Lady."

Pansy swallowed, flushing a terrible splotchy red. Daphne looked cold, her eyes darting between Narcissa and Hermione. Hermione cleared her throat and stood, bringing the cloak to Narcissa. Narcissa set aside her parchments and papers, staring up at Hermione with blue eyes. Hermione did not forget Narcissa's warning.

 _Power is power._

"My Lady, I beg your leave. I am feeling overtired. I ask that you finish this cloak for your son, my intended," Hermione said, her words carefully chosen.

Narcissa raised a blonde eyebrow and nodded once. "Yes, Lady Granger. Leave it here."

Hermione laid the cloak next to Narcissa and left the woman's suites. She kept her chin up as she passed them all and ignored the way Daphne brushed her fingers against the inside of her wrist. She would show no weakness. She was Hermione Granger, and she was no Lady. She was Hermione Granger, the Muggleborn bitch that would hold an empire by its balls once she married that prick. If she could not escape, she would use her power for good.

 _Knowledge is power. Power is power._

Hermione's step grew more confident with every step, her eyes narrowing.

She turned up the moving ever-shifting staircases, going towards her own rooms. The maids and servants all stepped out of her way, bowing as she walked along the stone floors.

The Dark Lord didn't seem to be doing a thing. Andromeda was idle too.

Narcissa would have an enemy in Hermione, then.

Hermione paused when she turned a corner and saw Luna and Rodolphus together again, pressed into an alcove near her rooms. He was so much taller than her, crowding her against the stone, pressing kiss to her jaw, to her cheeks to her mouth. Luna reveled in it, running hands up and down the man's chest.

"Luna," Hermione barked.

Luna peeled herself away from Rodolphus, a defiant look in her gray eyes. She stood on her heels and pressed a final kiss to Rodolphus' lips before she moved towards her Lady. Luna glanced over her shoulder at the man.

"Tell your Lord my words. Soon," Luna said, forebodingly.

Rodolphus nodded. Hermione's brow furrowed into an angry snarl and grabbed Luna's hand, jerking her into her rooms and slamming the door shut. Luna yanked her hand away, staring narrow-eyed at Hermione. Her nostrils were flared.

"Luna, you shouldn't be near him!" Hermione snapped.

"I've been near Rodolphus my entire life here at this castle. And before you ask, I haven't been with him very long. I only kissed him, for the first time, when I turned 16. And I've been in love with him much longer," Luna said, sharply.

Hermione scoffed. "Luna, I know all about men and their ways. Men are cruel and terrible and will say anything to get near your cunt. The king, my stepbrother-"

Luna yanked down the bodice of her dress and Hermione recoiled at the sight. There were scars marking the front of her, down to her belly. Bite marks on her sides and the raised scars caused by nails. Half of her left nipple looked raw and scarred, as if it had healed messily. Luna pulled her dress back up.

"What? You think you are the only woman to suffer at the hands of a bad man?" Luna spat.

Hermione flinched. Luna was cold, staring at her with bone-chillingly gray eyes, so pale that they looked like tiny moons in her round face.

"No. That's not what I meant," Hermione said.

"There are many bad men in the world, Hermione Granger," Luna said, sharply. "Rodolphus is a good one. He killed a deathless man for me. A man that my mother trapped and to take revenge, he did this to me. Rodolphus has done _much_ for me."

"He's a Death Eater," Hermione began.

"As is Barty Crouch, but I see the way you look at him," Luna retorted. She took a step forward and then paused. Slowly, she took a deep breath, centering herself. Her eyes grew wide and soft again. "Hermione, when I was a girl, the Dark Lord saved me."

"I know. I remember," Hermione said, her voice soft.

"Rodolphus and Rabastan came with him. They saved me but, they couldn't save my mother. And my mother...had many enemies. The most dangerous of them all was the Peverell Brothers, particularly the eldest," Luna explained, knotting her fingers in her skirts. She sighed and looked up, shaking her head.

"The Peverell Brothers are a myth," Hermione said, immediately.

Luna's lips twitched. "If only," she laughed. "My mother made an enemy of the three brothers that beat Death but, it was the eldest that posed the most threat. Antioch Peverell held a wand called the Deathstick, an unbeatable wand. But, somehow, my mother separated him from it and entombed him. But, when she died...it caused the release of Antioch."

Hermione could imagine where this story was going.

"And so, he came for you," Hermione murmured.

Luna nodded.

"The Dark Lord had sent me on my way. He didn't know," Luna said, forlornly, her voice cracking.

"Oh, Luna," Hermione rasped.

"Antioch came for me. The Dark Lord only doubled back on a feeling but, not until this had happened. He didn't rape me. He preferred to brand me. Humiliate me. As my mother did to him.

"The Dark Lord and the Lestranges did all that they could to protect me but, a duel ended it all. I knew the stories. My mother had told them all to me, and so, I knew where she hid his death, for with the wand, he was Deathless. I took them to the place and they dueled him. In that battle, Rodolphus was blinded in one eye but, in the end, it was he that slaughtered Antioch," Luna said, her voice impossibly soft and full of the sweetest of loves. It made Hermione ache to see that beautiful look in her eyes.

"You owed him a life debt. Not your love," Hermione insisted.

Luna's eyes narrowed. "And yet he has my love anyway. He is a good man. A better man than any other man I know. I love him and, you are my friend and Lady. Accept this, please."

And against her better judgment, Hermione nodded.

 **ALL?**

"I...I read the letter," Andromeda said, her voice hoarse.

She had read Nymphadora's letter a thousand times. She had read it so much, she could recall every word, the way the letters curved on the page. The words, speaking of her long journey, all that she had gone through to arrive at the camp of the Order of the Phoenix. The blood that marked it as truly Nymphadora. The wax seal that erased all of Andromeda's doubts.

"Did you?" Voldemort said as Andromeda walked, ghostlike, into his study. He poured wine into two goblets of wine and he offered one to her. Andromeda took it and drank it, heartily, wine spilling from the corners of her lips.

Voldemort's lips curled into a sneer.

"She truly...you didn't kill her. She lives," Andromeda whispered, as if the thought terrified her.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, smugness radiating from him. It was always a pleasure when he could shock the great Andromeda Empath.

"I am no Kinslayer," Voldemort said instead, daintily sipping his wine. He sat on the loveseat and gestured to the chair across from him. Andromeda sat down, her burgundy and chainmail gown clinking with every step. His warrior sister, in shock.

"You aren't...a Kinslayer," Andromeda whispered.

"No. Does this evidence suffice? Will you bend the knee to King Harry Wildfyre?" Voldemort asked.

Andromeda nodded, absently, looking down at the parchment, crumpled in her tight fist.

"You are a greedy liar. You cannot fault me for thinking that you were lying to me again," Andromeda said.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tongue, sister. You are in shock, trepidation. You fear that she will not know you when you see her again for the first time in decades. You fear what will come to pass if she doesn't want you but, you will watch your tongue after I give you what you have wanted. How ungrateful."

Andromeda's nostrils flared and she finished her wine, slamming the empty glass down, angrily.

"You will dissect me now? Tell me _my_ greatest fears?" Andromeda snarled. She knew fear. She tasted it. She could taste her brother's rage, his solemnity. It drove her mad.

"I promised you your greatest desire, dear sister. Now, you have it. You have _everything_ to lose. You will bend the knee, right? I gave you what you wanted. And now, you will give me what I want," he said.

"And what is it that you want _now_? You always take and take and take, but never give. But, I can't say that, can I?" Andromeda growled. "I tell you I'll bend the knee to this boy I've never met, risking the lives of my people and you still want more. What _more_ do you want from me?"

Voldemort's lips twitched into a secret smile.

"You must give him sanctuary when we ask for it. Do you want to protect your people? So, does he. He has a whole refugee camp and Afallon is self-sufficient, unlike Essetir or Orcate. You and your soldiers will fight in his name until he has a crown on his head and empire under his feet. And if he dies, oh, dear sister, you think you know fear...you know _nothing_ ," Voldemort hissed and he pulled away from Andromeda, laughing softly at the look on her face.

Andromeda looked drained and she snarled when she saw that the pitcher of wine was empty.

"He owns you. You would threaten your blood...for _him_?" Andromeda demanded. Voldemort looked at his sister through narrowed eyes, wondering if he should speak his truth. He should. Andromeda would taste his lies anyway.

"I would ravage this entire empire. I would burn my mother's bones, and if he asked it of me, I would abandon you all. I took a Vow. You think you know me, Andromeda Slytherin, but, you know nothing."

Andromeda faltered and she took a step closer to him. She looked like she wanted to say something but, thought better of it. She swallowed and nodded.

:::

 **A/N:** So, I'm kinda digging this once a week schedule. It really lets me put out quality content. What I'm not digging is the two review a chapters for thousands of words of work. I hope people are still reading this. It's kinda discouraging. Hopefully, I'll break 100 reviews soon. I just remember having so many the last time this story was up. A lot of reviews for much shittier content. Whatever. Just wanted to rant.

Anyway, I hope you're enjoying where the story is heading. I have the rest of ARC TWO plotted out and outlined entirely. I don't have much of the next chapter written but I know exactly what needs to be written, so that's good. It's going to be a doozy. ARC TWO's final chapter will be CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX. Lots of awesome shit is gonna happen soon.

UNTIL NEXT TIME!


	21. Chapter Seventeen

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Seventeen

Fleur looked up as the bell rang at her door.

She always looked up, hoping for a glimpse of Gabrielle. Every time the bell rang, in the split second it to raise her head, Fleur felt her stomach twist into a pit of hope. Every time, she was disappointed again and again. Usually, it was a customer, and Fleur had to fight to keep her face from falling into despair. Fleur had taken to praying for her sister's safety, praying that the Maiden of the Dtrwies would keep her safe, though Fleur had no knowledge as to whether her sister was still a maiden or not.

This time. The only time, she was not disappointed.

"Gabrielle!" Fleur gasped, flying around the counter and throwing her arms around the girl. Gabrielle returned the hug just as tight, burying her face in Fleur's shoulder. Fleur pulled back, keeping her hands tight on Gabrielle's shoulders so that she could look at the young woman. The pit in her stomach grew as she looked at the younger Delacour.

Gabrielle looked radiant in the worst way possible.

Her face was still round, her nose upturned. She still looked like herself. But, Gabrielle's blonde hair glowed nearly silver. She looked Veela. Fleur flinched away from her as she looked at her baby sister.

"You need a veil. Let me get one for you," Fleur said, hurriedly.

Gabrielle shook her head. "No. No, Fleur. Fenrir says that we shouldn't hide who we are. He _is_ like us."

"He's a man and a man of government, at that. Of course, he doesn't have to hide," Fleur said, sharply and she tugged Gabrielle deeper into the shop. She pulled her wand and flicked it, turning the sign so that the door was marked as closed and the lock clicked shut. "Now, come."

" _No_ ," Gabrielle insisted, yanking herself from Fleur so violently that she nearly stumbled. "Fenrir is a good man. He'll protect me."

Fleur froze. _He'll protect me._ As in, he would continue to do so. Gabrielle had not been home for days and she didn't seem to be planning to return.

"He will? You're not coming home?" Fleur whispered.

Gabrielle flushed.

"I couldn't leave my husband," Gabrielle whispered.

Fleur's heart shattered.

"No...Gabrielle. Tell me you _didn't_ ," Fleur begged, her eyes stinging with unshed tears as Gabrielle flinched away from her touch. Her stomach revolted and she waited for Gabrielle to answer, to say that she _didn't_.

"Well. Not yet," Gabrielle allowed, showing off her hand.

It was a simple ring, silver and broad. There weren't any embellishments, nor would it get caught on anything while Gabrielle was out and about.

It suited Gabrielle well.

That might've hurt Fleur the most. Fenrir Greyback knew her sister well enough to buy a ring to her tastes. He knew about the places that Gabrielle wanted to go, knew about the people Gabrielle wanted to meet, and could provide her with the life that Fleur had broken her back to provide. He could give Gabrielle the freedom that Fleur couldn't afford and the adventure that Fleur had never craved for herself. The knowledge festered like an open wound, seeping with pus.

"You're going to marry him," Fleur said, brokenly.

Gabrielle hesitated.

"I...I am," she said as if she couldn't believe it herself. "Fenrir is good and kind and he understands me. And I could grow to love him."

"You don't love him already? Then why marry him?" Fleur demanded.

"Because he can protect us," Gabrielle said, firmly. "Come to the chateau. You'll understand. If I marry him, you'll never have to worry about the shop being repossessed or having to work late into the night to make ends meet. You can practice your prophecy in peace. You never have to worry about someone catching you talking about the Dtrwies. You'll never have to wear your veil again!"

Fleur scoffed. "I love my veil! And I don't mind having to work hard to provide for you, for me, for our _family_! Fenrir Greyback can't protect us from the entire government of the Republic, the people that murdered our parents, the people he works for because he is _complacent._ You need protection from Fenrir Greyback!"

Her words echoed in the shop and Gabrielle recoiled as if she had been slapped. Gabrielle looked at her and Fleur slowly looked up and to her left, straight into the mirror. She hissed.

Her veil had burned away, revealing long silvery hair and her skin had turned harsh and dark. She could feel her face twinging as if it wanted to pull into the cruel beak that it had become only once in her entire life, the night her parents had died. Her shoulder blades shuddered under her skin, scales sliding up the dips in her spine.

Fleur looked back at the open window and squawked, wandlessly Summoning a spare veil to her hand in desperation. She hooked it around her face and shuddered, pulling back.

"I'm not coming back here," Gabrielle whispered. "I refuse to live in fear. _Alohomora._ "

The shop lock clicked open.

Gabrielle turned on her heel and walked from the shop, her head held high.

Fleur refused to weep.

 **MIRROR**

Fawkes trilled, far from a phoenix's lament. It was a call and the fire responded, burning brighter as Harry went on. Freia shrieked in response, clawing around the edges of the paddock, careful not to push past the boundaries. Some of his followers jumped, still frightened by the dragon that was now approaching the size of a very large horse. Her shriek comforted Harry, pushed him forward, and he swallowed the bile that rose in his throat to accompany the gamey chewy flesh that he swallowed.

They were gathered around him, in total silence, staring down at him. Only the Dark Lord moved, circling him, casting him looks of encouragement or contempt—Harry was too out of his head to tell. He swallowed another rough piece of meat and shuddered, letting out a sickening noise. Tonks hissed and shook her head, nodding at him. Harry nodded back. He couldn't give up.

He lifted the lion's heart to his mouth and took another large bite of the gamey meat, the blood smearing over his chin.

He looked up again and the caught the eye of Ron Weasley. His face was green but he endured.

Only warriors could witness this event. Only warriors belong.

"He has to eat the whole heart?" Ron muttered to Madame McGonagall who watched impassively. He had taken well to being under her wing, training to be her successor.

"He's doing well," McGonagall allowed.

"This shit is unnecessary. We should be planning our next move," Moody grumbled.

Remus shook his head. "It's completely necessary. Court won't accept him if he doesn't complete this," Remus argued.

Ron groaned, holding his own belly.

"He'll never keep it down," Moody said, nastily.

They watched as Voldemort kneeled in front of Harry, watching him as the young man brought the lion's heart up to his mouth again. He didn't touch him. Harry had to do it by sheer force of will. Ron looked between the two. Their connection was raw and emotional and _wrong_ in so many ways but, when Harry looked into those hateful red eyes, he tore into the heart. There wasn't much left to go.

"He'll do it. He has to. He's Harry," Ron disagreed, his voice hushed.

Voldemort reached forward, brushing Harry's hair away from his mouth as Harry stuffed the last bit of the lion's heart into his mouth. The Dark Lord threw himself back as Harry wretched, falling forward onto his hands and knees.

There was a long beat as Harry groaned, softly, to himself, and then he sat up, falling back on his haunches and very pointedly swallowed.

"He did it!" Fred cried out, happily, and he turned to his brother, and they grabbed each other, leaping up and down. "He did it! He did it! He did it!"

Harry tilted his head back and laughed as the witnesses turned to each other, and congratulated one another as if they had accomplished it all. Tonks and Voldemort only had eyes for Harry. Voldemort smirked. He walked away as Tonks rushed up and fell to he knees at Harry's side. She tugged him into a tight embrace.

"Well done, Harry," she whispered against his temple and Harry hugged her back.

"Wasn't easy," he murmured into her neck.

Tonks pulled back, holding him by his shoulders. Her lips tilted into an impish grin.

"It didn't look it," she murmured as she lifted her wand at his face. " _Tergeo_."

Harry winced as the strangely tightening feeling of his skin and he touched his jaw as the drying lion's blood was siphoned away. Tonks nodded, approvingly and she sat back, smiling softly at Harry's face. Harry flushed under her stare.

"What?" he muttered.

"I'm just really proud of you. I imagine this is what it feels like to be proud of a younger brother," Tonks said, softly and Harry flushed, pleased with her words, and he looked up and around at the people that watched them.

Harry slowly stood to his feet, pulling Tonks up with him. Freia shrieked in his ear, nudging her large head against the small of his back, and Harry reached back, absently patting her on the head. She was probably starving but she would have to looked at Madame McGonagall. She nodded at him, full of approval.

"Sometimes, you look just like your father but, ethereal. But, you have your mother's eyes. You are so much like your mother," she said, her voice stern.

Harry's lips pulled into a wide smile. Before he could thank her for her words, there was a quiet yowl. Harry looked over as Voldemort returned, something cradled in his arms, and Harry crept forward. He could feel Freia's hot, curious breath on his neck.

"Tom?" Harry murmured, just soft enough that only the three of them could hear.

"When I ate the heart of a snake, I was awarded a python who has been my closest companion for decades. When you eat of a lion, you gain a lion's heart," Voldemort declared, his voice booming and quieting nearly everyone. Harry almost jumped. In all his time of knowing the Dark Lord, Harry hadn't ever heard him so loud.

And then Harry gasped as Voldemort pressed the bundle into his arms, and Harry looked into the amber eyes of a small white albino lion cub. He looked up, wide-eyed.

"He's beautiful," Harry murmured, cuddling the cub to his chest as it yowled and batted its claws at Harry's chest. The Dark Lord must've spelled them because they only felt like tickles to Harry.

"She," Voldemort corrected. "This lion cub will be yours to train as Freia was yours. She will be your constant companion as my Nagini has been to me. She will go to war with you and you will go to war for her."

Harry nodded in agreement, and he looked around at them all. Moody and Fendwick both looked like they had swallowed something sour. Harry lifted his head in triumph, smirking at them all before he turned to look at his Horntail. Freia slithered forward, pressing her large head against the squirming bundle in Harry's arms.

"Be nice, Freia," Harry warned. "This is...Hedwig. Her name is Hedwig, and she'll be taking some of my attention now because she's a baby but, I love you both equally. I promise."

Tonks snorted. "You speak to them like they're children."

"They are my children," Harry snapped back with a small smile and he turned to Hagrid, beckoning him over with a toss of his head. Hagrid lumbered over even as Voldemort's lips curled in distaste. "Hagrid, can you feed her? She looks—how old is she?"

"Two months. She was part of a traveling circus that was crossing through the North," Voldemort said, firmly. Harry nodded and he turned back to Hagrid.

"Yeh go it, yer Grace. I'll take care of 'er," Hagrid said, excitedly. Harry smiled brightly at the large man and he gently handed over Hedwig to him, pressing a kiss to the top of the cub's head.

"I'll come get her later. I want to change out of my blood-soaked clothes first," Harry explained and he turned away, and just as he was about to make a move to the Burrow II, the entire crowd fell silent as the sound of the phoenix's lament echoed above them.

Harry watched as Fawkes soared around his head and the phoenix's song made him want to weep. He drew his wand from his pocket as he felt it vibrating and looked to Voldemort. Voldemort stared at his own wand, his brow furrowed as it trembled in his hand. Fawkes let out a long sorrowful note, circling their heads, his long tail brushing across their cheeks, one last time before he disappeared in a burst of fire.

"Where did he go?" Ron asked, loudly, breaking the tense silence.

Harry felt his heart in his throat.

"He's gone. He won't come back," Harry said, thinking of Fawkes, the last connection to his mother, and his chin dropped to his chest as he fought off the sudden stinging tears that welled.

"You no longer need him," Voldemort said, soft and sure, tilting Harry's chin up so that he could stare into those wide green orbs. "He was your mother's and he watched over you for her."

"Then, why did he leave?" Harry demanded.

"You are the _King_. He has gone to join her bones. His time is dead but, you _live_ ," Voldemort insisted with such conviction that Harry swallowed all of his sorrow. "You are the last lion in this world."

Harry looked over at the Weasleys, eyes wide. Ginny stepped forward, raising her chin, never ashamed of speaking out.

"Another title for the Fairest, then," Fred called, laughing brashly.

"Alpha of the Pride," George agreed.

And it sounded grand and right, and Harry's lips pulled into a wide grin. He said nothing else, only nodding. He turned back to Voldemort but, the man looked conflicted, his brow furrowed. Harry turned back to the people, watching him, waiting. He stepped forward even as Voldemort cleared his throat, as if to stop him.

"King Draco and his mother think he can take what he wants. That no one can stop him! But, we will send him a message!" Harry shouted. "I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter! I am the Prince that was lost and forgotten but, no longer. I am the King of the empire and I shall take it and give it to all of you, the people that deserve it! If you fight with me—my brothers, my sisters—we will show him that they _cannot_ take what they want. That this? This land belongs to us! And when I sit on the Gilded Throne, know this: everything that I do is in the name of you all! I will not falter. I will not break! I am no phoenix. I do not burn to be reborn. I am a lion and I choose you all, as my pride! Will you fight with me?"

And they _roared_ for him, without hesitation. Harry nodded as the fire burned brighter around him, building until it surrounded them and Freia threw back her head and roared, a plume of flames escaping into the air, nearly blinding them. Harry turned to the Dark Lord. Voldemort looked at him, his face expressionless. Harry held up his chin, and instead, he turned to walk through the flames towards the cottage.

He knew that Voldemort would follow him.

Harry walked into the cottage and went straight up the stairs. He nearly stumbled when he felt hands on his waist, steadying him. Voldemort didn't let go as they walked up the stairs. Harry repressed the urge to shiver as he could feel the heat of the man so close to him. Harry pushed open his bedroom door and slid inside. Voldemort shut the door behind him and Harry backed away against the opposite wall.

The room was bright from the merry fire. Harry's breath quickened and the fire grew dimmer. Voldemort stalked forward.

"Are you mad at me?" Harry whispered, his palms pressed against the wall. He itched to touch, to run his fingers through Voldemort's hair, to drag his hands down his bare chest. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He _wanted_.

"I increasingly find it harder to be angry with you," Voldemort said, his voice quiet even as he crowded Harry against the wall. He lifted Harry's chin up so that they made eye contact. Harry was caught in crims.

"I find it hard to be mad at you too," Harry said, gently. He took Voldemort's face in his hands and pulled him down until their lips were breaths apart. Harry blinked. "Kiss me, Tom."

Voldemort hummed and pressed their lips together. Harry allowed himself to touch. His hands roamed up Voldemort's arms, squeezing his biceps and over his broad shoulders before his arms wrapped around Voldemort's neck, pulling him closer. Voldemort deepened the kiss, sucking on Harry's bottom lip. Harry whined quietly and Voldemort groaned in response, his hands dragging down Harry's back to cup his bottom, squeezing the soft flesh.

"You are magnificent," Voldemort hissed. He didn't specify what about Harry was magnificent—if he was impressed by Harry's consumption of a lion's heart, his speech or his beauty. Harry liked to think all three.

"I want you," Harry whispered before tugging Voldemort down again. He whined when the man bypassed his lips, sucking a bruise at his pulse point, biting possessively. "I want you. Fuck me, Tom. Fuck me."

Voldemort stiffened and pulled away, looking at Harry. Harry looked up, breathing hard, eyes glassy and he whined, trying to pull Voldemort back down.

"No," Voldemort warned. "No."

Harry looked wrecked.

"Why not?" Harry demanded.

Voldemort brushed his fingers against Harry's swollen bottom lip and Harry's lips parted so _easily._

"I must go. Andromeda will come soon," Voldemort said and he disappeared without another word, the door slamming shut behind him.

Harry swallowed and slid down to the floor.

 **MIRROR**

"Your Grace! Madame!"

Harry looked up from Freia's feeding and spun around. McGonagall had been standing at the edge of the paddock watching but she too turned at the call. Tonks was on Ron's heels, nearly crashing into him and Ginny crashed into her back. Harry took a step forward, eyes wide as he looked at the panic in Ron's eyes.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Draco's forces are going to march to Godric's Hollow. They're zeroing in our location," Ron babbled.

"What is? My grandfather?" Harry demanded.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Your ancestral home. Lily was born in Afallon's stronghold, Westeron, but, Godric grew up in Medraut's stronghold's shadow and he conquered Medraut there. It is the seat of your family's power. Dolohov is Duke of it."

Harry felt a rush through him. His last home. His connection to his mother's family was that ancestral home and Draco, the Usurper, thought that he could use it to assert power. It had been given to the man that Ginny wanted to kill. The man that _deserved_ to be killed. The fires of the camp roared with his fury. He shook his head and through the pounding of his own heart, he could hear Freia's shrieks in response to his rage.

"He will not. We fight. Summon Kingsley—" Harry began.

"No," McGonagall interrupted. She turned to Tonks and Ron. "Lady Red will go."

A chill ran down Harry's spine as Ginny and Ron exchanged glances. Before Harry could ask who Lady Red was, Tonks stepped forward. Ginny and Ron tensed as if waiting for her orders. Tonks had never been to battle with Harry and he imagined that this was the very reason. Tonks' face turned blank and she nodded once, suddenly standing at attention.

"Aye, I accept this mission," Tonks drawled. "Ginny, my robes. Ron. My swords."

Ron and Ginny scrambled off to do as she asked. Harry straightened his own battle robes and nodded once as he felt Voldemort's knife at his waist and his sword. His wand was stowed away. He would ride to battle as he would.

"Why don't you ride to battle?" Harry asked, softly, his eyes alight with interest.

"Because I was raised by a dangerous woman to be a dangerous warrior," Tonks said, coldly. "You knew her by the name of Pandora."

Harry's eyes widened and he watched as Fred and George walked over, a large trunk between the two of them, four locks hanging from it. Tonks held out her hand and Fred pulled his dagger. Tonks slid the dagger across her palm and bent over, smearing blood on the locks. Harry watched as the blood magic worked and the four locks unlocked with a click, one by one. Tonks kicked the trunk open and he stared.

There was a pair of swords there, one the color of normal steel but the other was the red of Tonks' cloak. It was as if the entire sword had been bathed in blood and baked with its color. Tonks lifted both swords and she shuddered, her eyes rolling around in her head. Slowly, Tonks' pink hair receded, giving way to brown and it curled madly around her head. Harry nearly flinched.

She _looked_ like a Slytherin now.

"What happened to your hair?" Harry asked, quietly.

Tonks looked up, her eyes burning bright as she laid the swords back down. Ginny returned with a bundle of black and Harry's cheeks burned bright red as Tonks stripped herself of her dress. Ron looked down as Tonks got naked before the entire camp and Ginny helped her into black battle robes that fit every curve, every line of muscle. Tonks whipped her cloak around her shoulders and grabbed her two swords, sheathing him.

"Ginny, you will ride with me. Dolohov won't be there but, Travers will," Tonks said, coldly.

"I'll kill him," Ron snarled.

"No. You won't," Tonks barked and Ron flinched backward. Harry leaned forward, interested in the sudden change in treatment. "Only I have permission to engage. Travers is formidable. Your sister is long distance. If she can get a clear shot, it's hers. But, if it's me, I'll do it."

"I don't need your permission," Harry said.

Tonks looked over at him. "No," she allowed. "But, I will do anything in my power to keep you safe and away from him."

Harry scoffed but didn't find time to argue. Instead, he watched as Hagrid led over two horses—one bay colored and the other black. Tonks mounted the black one and Harry mounted his own bay colored horse. He looked around the group. Emmeline Vance, Marlene McKinnon, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and Charlie. Even Moody and Fendwick were ready.

"Are we ready?" Tonks called.

There were varying grunts of agreement and Tonks held out her hand towards Madame McGonagall. McGonagall went around, passing out the Portkeys. Harry grabbed Tonks' and then they disappeared into a swirling array of blue. Harry would never get used to Portkeys. He always swayed atop his horse and was tirelessly glad that the horses' hooves had been charmed to stick to the ground when they landed.

Harry immediately threw himself off his horse and into the fray, crashing into one of the defending Aurors. They had the surprise advantage, somewhat, and they were brutal fighters compared to some of the Aurors. Harry heard the gurgle of blood in the man's throat as he punched his sword through his belly and ripped it out, throwing his body to the side.

The Aurors that guarded the outside of the stronghold looked shocked but immediately engaged in battle. It was lightly guarded, no more than fifteen guards at the gate, and if Harry had to guess, another fifteen to twenty inside. They hadn't expected this, especially when Draco's forces were marching towards Godric's Hollow.

Ginny fired shot after shot, and arrows exploded through people's eyes, through the back of their heads. Spells Summoning boulders and firing green jets of death flew across each side. They clashed with all the brutality that they could muster and Harry grinned a terrible smile and he slammed his sword up to the hilt in a man's belly before ripping it out. He spun, wand raised.

" _Diffindo!_ " he cried out, slashing another man open, his intestines spilling from the gut wound. Harry looked up and saw that Moody, Kingsley, and McKinnon were fighting admirably.

McKinnon stood awkwardly as if her leg was broken but, she didn't falter. Instead, she launched herself forward with a grim determination, curses spilling from between her clenched teeth. Purple sparks and black beams of power shot out, introducing men to death, and Harry turned back around as the gates to Godric's Hollow finally opened and more soldiers spilled out.

It was only one that Harry's gaze stuck on.

Torquil Travers was not what Harry expected. He wasn't particularly tall or broad. He was rather pale. His skin was slightly ashen and he was bald—another surprising trait. But, Harry could see the Dark Mark on his arm, black against his ashen skin.

"Well, if it isn't the Fairest of Them All. You are a pretty one," Travers drawled as he moved forward, flanked by four guards that had their weapons raised. Three Muggles and a magical Auror. This would be interesting.

"Thank you," Harry spat, nastily. "It's come to my attention that you're occupying _my_ ancestral home."

Travers took another step forward, pulling his sword and his wand. "Come and take it from me, pretty boy."

Harry faltered as he looked at Travers. Travers walked towards him, swinging his sword as he strode forward, his eyes never shifting from Harry's face. The three Muggle Aurors that flanked him looked ready to slice him through but, Harry waited, falling into the battle stance, lifting his sword beside his head. He glanced to his right.

Ginny was atop Tonks' horse, her face pale beneath the freckles. Her hand faltered. So, she wouldn't take the shot. She frantically looked down at her sides and pulled a vial from the saddle bag, pouring it over the arrow tip but, Harry couldn't concern himself with her. He would watch Tonks' back.

Before Harry could step forward, his sight was obscured by crimson.

"M-my Queen?" Travers choked out.

And in the light from the flames, Tonks did look like Bellatrix Slytherin. Tonks lifted her head and Travers' gaze hardened. He took another step forward and Tonks tilted her head.

"I am Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Andromeda Slytherin. I will avenge the rape and murder of my friend and her parents. I will avenge the deaths of all the people you slaughtered," Tonks said as she took a step forward, pulling her swords from the sheaths.

"I wish you good fortune in the wars to come. So, now, the war begins," Travers laughed.

Tonks did not laugh.

"No. Now, it ends," Tonks snarled and then she was swinging her swords, so fast that they blurred into a swirl of crimson and gray.

Harry watched, open-mouthed as Tonks began to duel Travers and the three Aurors, seemingly everywhere at once. She stepped forward, swung at one Auror as she used her sword to defend from another. Travers' eyes narrowed in concentration as he pulled his wand, coming at her from her open left. Harry's eyes widened and he lifted his wand, ready to deal with the man himself.

" _Avada Kedavra,_ " Tonks snarled, and the tell-tale green jet of magic exploded from the end of the crimson sword.

The Auror crumpled immediately, a lifeless heap on the ground. Harry Summoned the body out of the way, and Tonks nodded in thanks as she spun, ending another Auror's life with the slice of her steel sword. He gurgled, clutching his throat, and Tonks kicked out, sending his body flying. She twisted back, catching her breath, and Travers stared at her, curiously.

"A sword as a conductor? What kind of Abominable blood magic have _you_ been playing with, my Lady?" Travers asked, tauntingly and Tonks didn't respond, only lifting her chin in defiance.

Harry winced as he realized that Tonks wasn't denying his accusations. As the last Auror tried to creep forward towards Tonks' back, Harry lifted his hand. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he crushed his hand into a fist and the Auror exploded into flames, screaming as his skin blackened to the color of tar.

"GINNY!" Tonks roared.

And then Harry watched as Ginny gathered her wits and let her arrow fly.

Travers jolted as the arrow crashed through his shoulder, bringing him to his knees. Ginny dismounted, stumbling over to them. She flung herself into Tonks' side, staring down at the man. Ginny grabbed Travers by the chin as his skin turned pale and the veins in his face burned a bright purple.

"Do you know me?" Ginny snarled.

Travers' eyes brightened as he looked up at her. He looked around, searching for reinforcements even as the Order members threw the bodies into the fire. He was alone. The Death Eater let out a burbling sound, and blood dripped down his cracked lips, dried by the heat of the flames. He choked as he spewed vomit, a disgusting mess of bile and blood.

Ginny threw her hand forward, cracking him across the face.

"DO YOU KNOW ME?" she roared, her voice echoing over the dead battlefield.

" _Yes_ ," he hissed at her. "Yes, I know you, Ginevra Weasley."

"You remember me," Ginny said, her voice broken.

Travers gurgled with laughter. "Of course, I remember you. Such a sweet virgin cunt. Tight and small. Of course, I don't like little girls but Antonin had fun with you. I liked your little whimpers the most. You cried so hard...until you stopped crying at all."

Ginny paused, turning to stone. Travers laughed more even as he pulled the arrow from his shoulder. The wound hissed with poison and smoke and he dropped the broken arrow to the side.

"Ginny…" Tonks started, raising her sword in offering.

"You can't kill me, Ginevra Weasley," Travers taunted and Ginny stared at him, blinking rapidly as she took in the truth of his words. "You're still the little girl that cried while she was raped and did nothing to stop it. You watched your parents be murdered like the little coward that you are."

Harry wondered if she would turn on her heel and run.

And then she took a step forward and with that Ginny took Tonks' steel sword and swung as hard as she could at Travers' neck. Travers' head separated from his shoulder with a rush of blood and a heavy thud. Ginny let the sword fall from her hand and she took a step back as the headless body swayed and landed on its front. Harry cleared his throat.

"What now?" Harry whispered.

Ginny stared for a long moment. Blood spotted her cheeks. And then she looked up.

She cleared her throat. "Now, we call Bill and Moody and McKinnon. They'll set up wards. Congratulations, your Grace. We've taken back Godric's Hollow."

 **ON THE**

"How can I help?" Harry demanded as he stormed in the medical tent, looking over his injured soldiers with a gaze full of panic.

Madame Pomfrey and Madame McGonagall looked up in surprise.

"Your Grace, you shouldn't—" Madame Pomfrey began.

"No. These are my men. You'll tell me how I can help," Harry said, rushing to her side, his hands fluttering with disuse. He looked at the two older women, a stubborn set to his jaw. "I'm going to help."

"Well, make yourself useful. Go get the Skelegro. It's in the cabinet next to Augustus Pye. Augustus, wave your hand!" Madame Pomfrey shouted.

A peaky young man waved his hand, barely looking up from his work as he rushed to set a McKinnon's leg. She cried out, lurching as she vomited into the basin in her lap. He murmured apologies and Harry inched around the two, searching through the cabinet. It was well-organized, each bottle labeled though Harry had no idea of what any of its uses were. Harry frowned. There were too many.

" _Accio_ Skelegro," he shouted, waving his wand, and he narrowly grabbed the potion bottle that shot through the air. Harry ran back to Madam Pomfrey and thrust the bottle into her hand. "What next?"

Madame Pomfrey and Madame McGonagall exchanged glances of surprise at the determination in Harry's eyes. Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat as she poured the Skelegro into a soldier's mouth. The soldier groaned but swallowed dutifully.

"I'll teach you," Madame Pomfrey said, immediately. She turned back to another patient, pulling Harry along. She went towards Augustus and glanced over his shoulder. "Augustus, the woman is already in pain. Is it set?"

"Yes, Madame. Shall I set it?" Augustus muttered as he straightened McKinnon out, and she whimpered, her face bone white.

"I'll do it. Look here, your Grace. To set and bind a break like this it's _Ferula_ ," Madame Pomfrey said and Harry watched in amazement as a bandage was Conjured and wrapped around McKinnon's leg, tightly binding it. McKinnon lurched once more, vomiting into her basin. She wiped her mouth, sour bile staining her sleeve.

"Ugh, look away. I'm sure you're enjoying this," McKinnon growled through her pain. She looked as agonized as before but Harry could see the pain in her eyes.

Harry shook his head. "No. Thank you for your service, Marlene McKinnon."

McKinnon looked away.

"Get a pepper-up potion and a calming potion in her. You need to rest," Madame Pomfrey said as McKinnon looked up, ready to protest. Madame Pomfrey led them on to the next patient.

Remus had a new set of scars on his chest. Tonks sat at his side, her hand tight in his. Remus looked up at Harry and then looked away. Harry rolled his eyes and turned to Tonks.

"How are you?" he asked, hurriedly.

"Fine. Just…Madame Pomfrey, please help him. It's too close to the full moon for him to be so weak," Tonks whispered, distracted and panicked.

"Full moon? What does that have to do with anything?" Harry asked.

Remus winced. "I'm a…"

"He's a werewolf, that's all," Madame Pomfrey said, briskly. Remus was too bloody to even blush, only looking away in embarrassment.

" _Tergeo_ ," Harry said sharply. He watched as the blood was siphoned away, showing only bloody gashes, oozing with renewed pus. Harry winced in sympathy. "Um…a blood-replenishing potion. And…this is dark magic, isn't it?"

Madame Pomfrey frowned. "It looks like it. This will be a bit more difficult, your Grace. Perhaps, you should—"

"No. I'm going to help. _Accio_ blood-replenishing potion," Harry said, Summoning it to his hand. He unstoppered and looked pointedly at Remus. Remus opened his mouth and Harry tipped it inside. Remus shuddered, some color returning to his cheeks. "How do we stop the bleeding? What can we do?"

"It's dark magic. He'll be scarred. But…Tonks, do you know anything?" Madame Pomfrey asked. Tonks continued to stare at the large gashes as if she hadn't heard a thing. Madame Pomfrey sighed and looked up. "Minerva! Large gashes afflicted by dark magic. Do you have any idea?"

"Trace the wand over the wounds. _Vulnera Sanentur._ Repeat the spell until the wounds are healed _,"_ Madame McGonagall said as she looked over another soldier and conjured a bandage with an absent wave of her wand. Another healer took it and immediately began working on the rather gory mess of Kingsley's side.

Madame Pomfrey took a deep breath to center herself but Harry moved too fast.

Softly, he began to chant, " _Vulnera Sanentur, vulnera sanentur_ ," as he traced his wand over the dark gashes all over Remus' chest. Madame Pomfrey gasped softly as the skin began to knit together, leaving fresh pink scars in the magic's wake.

Tonks looked up, wide-eyed and Remus' breathing grew deeper.

" _Vulnera sanentur,_ " Harry whispered, finishing the healing. He looked paler but still strong and Madame Pomfrey stared at the boy in wonder. Harry frowned, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. "What?"

"You're so much like your mother," Madame Pomfrey murmured before she turned away. "Peakes! How's the potion inventory?"

"Low, Madame," Peakes called as he finished bandaging one of the last of the injured.

"Damn," Madame Pomfrey murmured before she looked over at Remus. "Rest up. Tonks, get a pepper-up in him."

"Yes, Madame," Tonks said, distractedly. She glanced at Harry, reaching up to take his hand. "Thank you."

"Always," Harry murmured.

"You are just like your mother and father. Brave and kind," Remus said and Harry's smile brightened. He nodded at the two before he took a step back and swayed. Tonks lurched in alarm as Madame McGonagall's strong arm looped around Harry's waist, steadying him.

"You've _also_ been in battle, your Grace. Take a seat," Madame McGonagall insisted even as Harry muttered about being just fine.

He nearly collapsed into the chair and blindly took the potion shoved into his hand. He felt suddenly energized and he looked up at McGonagall with a small smile.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're like your mother. Always helping, never worrying enough about yourself," Madame McGonagall said.

"What do you mean?"

"When we first went to war with the Slytherins, she made potions from her tower. She would work tirelessly, producing potions and they were always the best. If she had been allowed to, she would've become one of the greatest Potions Mistresses or Masters this empire would ever know. Instead, that title goes to Severus Snape," McGonagall said, her lips curled in distaste at the man's name.

Harry tilted his head as he thought about the man in question. He hadn't spoken to Severus Snape much but, he seemed rather unpleasant and was quite greasy. Harry didn't know much about potions but Severus looked like the type.

"Perhaps I'll ask the Dark Lord about having Snape make our potions," Harry decided, mostly to himself and Madame Pomfrey.

"Excellent idea. But, you _must_ rest, your Grace. Any wounds?" she asked, running a diagnostics spell with a grand sweep of her wand even as she asked. Harry shook his head.

"Just a few cuts and bruises," he insisted, showing off his forearm. A long gash was there, surrounded by purpling bruises. It had stopped bleeding but Madame Pomfrey hissed in displeasure.

She Summoned a paste towards her and Harry shook it off.

"Just a bandage," he said. "Don't waste potions on me."

"Selfless, stupid boy," Madame Pomfrey muttered, even as Harry grinned in amusement. She summoned a bandage, wrapping his forearm carefully. "Be mindful, your Grace."

"Poppy, the King is a reckless individual. I doubt he'll be careful," McGonagall said in amusement. Harry scoffed, prepared to defend himself when McGonagall gave him a look. "It's wonder you haven't been killed. His first battle, he confronted the Usurper head on."

"And won!" Harry interjected.

"By sheer dumb luck," McGonagall continued. "Just like your mother and father."

Harry snorted, shaking his head. "Both my parents had 'dumb luck'?" Harry asked.

"Your father was a reckless fool, always gallivanting through the Forbidden Forest, with his reckless friends. The Marauders they called themselves," Madame Pomfrey said with a long sigh. "Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and _Peter Pettigrew._ "

She spat the last name like a vile curse.

"Peter Pettigrew," Harry murmured, tasting the name of the cowardly man that had betrayed his parents. He was still the Dark Lord's man. "And my mother?"

"She was always with them, climbing trees, and leaping to and fro, just as reckless. She thought she could fly, that one. But, Lily Gryffindor was kind and good in all the ways that you are," McGonagall insisted. Harry's lips pulled into a smile. "We were present at your birth."

"Did I really kill the summer?" Harry asked curiously.

"Aye. Most magical birth I've ever attended to," Madame Pomfrey said and McGonagall hummed in agreement. Harry flushed in embarrassment but he didn't look away. "When you were born, all of the fires in the empire died. But, when you let out a cry, they burned brighter than ever. Your mother called you a prince's name: Hadrian James Gryffindor-Potter. It was your father that gave you a warrior's name. Wildfyre."

McGonagall nodded. "Now, you must rest." Before Harry could protest, McGonagall lifted her hand. "Whenever you want more stories, seek us out. Rest, your Grace. The Warden of the West comes tomorrow."

 **WALL**

Andromeda watched through narrowed eyes as she rode forward on her horse, the eyes of all of the refugees on her. Their staring ranged from disdainful to curious, and every shade in between. One woman, in particular, caught Andromeda's gaze—a tall pale woman with a long face, like a horse. Her cornflower eyes were narrowed by judgment. Andromeda sniffed and turned away, looking at her brother's back as he led Andromeda and the two Lestranges through the camp.

"Welcome to the Camp of the Phoenix," Voldemort drawled, utterly bored already.

Andromeda was impressed. At least a thousand people resided here and they had evaded her brother's notice for nearly two decades. Whoever ran the operation was a formidable opponent, indeed.

"How many of them are soldiers, my Lord?" Rodolphus asked.

Ever the military man. Andromeda rolled her eyes. Rodolphus Lestrange was a formidable, serious man. He hadn't been bested in a duel since he had last dueled Bellatrix. Even she had heard about that particular battle in her fortress. Bellatrix had been insane but, she hadn't exactly lost her touch, it seemed.

It only made it more disconcerting that _Narcissa_ had gotten the better of her.

"Not as many as necessary. It is why we reach out to Alfheim and soon, other allies. But, we will train the able ones. All men and women must fight," Voldemort said, lowly, as if he didn't want them to know just yet.

"You still won't have the numbers," Rodolphus said, almost apologetically. Voldemort cast him a dangerous look but, didn't debate him. There wasn't anything to debate really. Rodolphus was right.

"But, we'll find allies. The Dark Lord won't lose," Rabastan said, unwaveringly faithful.

Voldemort's lips twitched into a self-righteous smirk, and Andromeda rolled her eyes as they approached the stables. He dismounted and turned towards a large lumbering man. Andromeda's eyes widened. The man had wild hair and a long beard and he was so large that he _had_ to be a half-giant.

"Hagrid, will you take the horses?" Voldemort drawled, looking at the man with disdain.

The man glared back at him, and muttered, "Aye."

Rabastan and Rodolphus dismounted. Rabastan offered his hand to Andromeda but, she rolled her eyes and dismounted, falling heavily to the ground. Her sword bounced at her side.

"Now, what?" Andromeda barked, searching.

She saw the sturdy cottage, the only building in the tent city of the refugees and she stepped towards it. Voldemort's hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist, and he tugged her away from the cottage.

"We won't be going in the building," Voldemort said, carefully as he led them around the side of the building to a large stable and farther out a paddock.

Andromeda walked, her head held high as she ignored the stares. The density of people grew the closer they got to the paddock. The Lestranges also held their heads high. They had nothing to be ashamed of. They had done what had been necessary to stay alive and here they were, alive.

"We're bending the knee in a paddock?" Rabastan asked, nervously.

"He wanted you to see his pets," Voldemort drawled, his lips twitching.

Andromeda's eyes widened as they entered the paddock. Her eyes fell on her daughter first. She would recognize her child, the child of her womb, anywhere.

Nymphadora had grown into a beautiful young woman. She had Bellatrix's nose and her dark indigo eyes. She had Andromeda's father's jaw but, her lips were all Ted's. Her hair was wild around her face, a bright pink. She was dressed in severe black battle armor, a red cloak draped over her shoulders. She stood directly to the right of _him_.

" _Melui_ - _âr,_ " Voldemort drawled. Andromeda raised an eyebrow. _Sweet-king_. "I present to you, the Lady Andromeda of House Slytherin, Warden of the West, and the Lords of House Lestrange."

Voldemort walked forward and took his place at the left of his _Melui_ - _âr._

"Lady Warden, Lords of House Lestrange, you are in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, and Fairest of Them All," Nymphadora declared. She didn't falter.

Andromeda stared at the King. He was just as beautiful as they whispered. His rosebud lips pursed, his ebony hair wild around his face like a halo, his skin so pale. He had Lily's eyes. His beauty was intimidating, just as intimidating as the lion cub in his lap, as the massive _dragon_ that sat behind him.

The dragon that Andromeda's brother had warned her about but, she had tried not to think about. She swallowed hard and moved forward. The dragon was the side of a horse. It let out a roar, a plume of fire escaping its mouth. Andromeda refused to flinch.

"Welcome Lady Warden, my Lords," Harry Wildfyre said, his voice melodic.

"Thank you for the invitation," Andromeda drawled. She looked at Nymphadora. Nymphadora was staring at her, her hands twitching, as if she wanted to reach for her. Andromeda took a step forward but, she froze when the dragon reared its head and a plume of smoke escaped its mouth in warning.

" _Dar, Freia_ ," the Fairest drawled. The dragon, Freia, whined and let its wide, heavy head fall into the Fairest's lap. "You will not approach my Lady of Whispers."

"Your Lady of Whispers is my daughter," Andromeda said, sharply.

The Fairest's lips twitched. "I know. But, I was made to think that you came here to bend the knee. Would my assumption be wrong?"

Andromeda paused and slowly a smile spread across her face. The Fairest's words were hard and frigid, but she could sense his turmoil. It was like fire. He wanted to let her run to Nymphadora. He was joyful about the news that Nymphadora's mother was here. And yet, he was putting his politics first in a way that Andromeda had only seen her brother and youngest sister capable of.

"You are a stone-cold bitch, your Grace," Andromeda said with a smile.

The Order broke into mutterings. A redheaded man with freckles on his face stepped forward.

"How dare you?" he snarled.

Andromeda rolled her eyes and continued to stare at the Fairest. The Fairest laughed.

"Thank you," he drawled. "Lord Rodolphus, Lord Rabastan of House Lestrange, do you come to bend the knee?"

"Yes, your Grace. We pledge fealty to you, the rightful King-Emperor of Albion," Rodolphus said, saluting with his wand. Rabastan whipped out his wand and followed his example.

The Fairest nodded once and slowly turn his cold gaze onto Andromeda.

"And what say you, Lady Warden?"

Andromeda pulled her sword and the party surrounding the Fairest stiffened, all of their hands falling to the hilts of their swords and the handles of their axes. Nymphadora and Voldemort, alone, did not make a move to defend the Fairest. Even the Fairest looked delighted.

Andromeda thrust her sword into the ground and fell to one knee, crossing her wand over her chest. The Fairest raised an eyebrow in interest.

"I, Andromeda of House Slytherin, Lady Warden of the West, swear Westeron, all of Afallon's forces, and fealty to you. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by any god," Andromeda declared, invoking the old rights.

Voldemort's nostrils flared.

The Fairest's lips curled into a genuine smile.

"And I vow, that you and your daughter, my closest confidant, will always have places by my hearth, at my table, and I shall never ask service of you that might be a dishonor. I swear it," the Fairest said with such conviction that Andromeda could not doubt any of his words.

Nymphadora looked to the Fairest, eyes wide. "Harry?" she whispered.

The Fairest stood, cradling the lioness cub to his chest. Slowly, he walked forward, his expression never changing. Andromeda cleared her throat as the Fairest approached; he was slightly taller than her—far taller than she had expected him to be. Voldemort tended to prefer delicate bedmates. But, the Fairest was delicate, in an odd way, and still far more delicate than Voldemort who towered over nearly everyone but that giant, Hagrid.

"Tom, there's work to be done," the Fairest whispered, gently, and Andromeda froze. Voldemort barely reacted, turning on his heel and following him from the room. The Fairest looked over his shoulder. "Tonks, speak with your mother. You have much to discuss, I think."

And with that, they were gone, and Andromeda was faced with the girl—no, woman, now—that she had thought dead for over twenty years.

 **WHO**

Tonks looked over her shoulder, at her mother, nervous, as she led her down the hall and towards her bedroom. Warden Andromeda was looking around, curiously, but not saying a single word. She was a regal woman. Tonks had known that. She had seen paintings of the woman in her chainmail dresses. The sword of the West bounced against her hip. But, Tonks remembered a time when she hadn't worn silk and leathers and chain. Tonks vaguely remembered simple cotton and hair tied-back.

Tonks could vaguely remember a time when Andromeda Slytherin had simply looked like her mother and not like the Warden of the West.

"My room's here…Lady Warden," Tonks said, uncertain. She flinched when Andromeda looked at her sharply.

Andromeda looked crossed between annoyance and amusement. Tonks ducked her head in embarrassment, her hair turning a bright yellow.

"That hasn't changed," Andromeda snorted. Tonks shrugged, uneasily as her hair eased back to bright pink.

"Never has, though I'm not as easily embarrassed anymore," Tonks said, ruefully.

Andromeda smiled.

"I'm glad."

Tonks pushed open the door with her hip and stumbled over the coat rack. As the troll leg fell over, so did and Tonks landed in a heap at her mother's feet. Tonks groaned, slapping a hand over her burning face as her hair burned a bright neon yellow.

"Oh Merlin, this is so _embarrassing_!" Tonks moaned from the ground.

Andromeda's laughter filled the room, bright and booming. It reminded Tonks of her childhood. Tonks crawled towards her bed, her red face pitched towards the ground.

"It is. But, it's also rather funny. The first time you tripped over something, you bawled until your father bandaged your nonexistent scrape," Andromeda said as she crossed the room and kneeled on the ground next to Tonks, uncaring for 'ladylike' behavior.

"I'm pretty sure that did not happen," Tonks said, looking up as the pink slowly dissipated from her face and went towards her hair. Andromeda smirked.

"I assure you it did."

Tonks leaned back against her bed and sighed. She looked over at Andromeda, wondering what she should say. Andromeda stared back at her, wide-eyed. Waiting.

"I missed you," Tonks blurted out.

Andromeda smiled, reaching forward to run her hand over the short spikes of Tonks' hair.

"And I missed you, my little Red. It's been a very long while," Andromeda whispered. She leaned back against the bed and looked up at the ceiling.

Tonks bit her lip.

"Voldemort...I...he recognized me when he first saw me. He looked at me and said 'Nymphadora' like he knew me my whole life. And I knew you. I remembered. I look like a Slytherin," Tonks said, so incredibly vulnerable.

"I knew you from the moment I saw you. You always liked your hair bright. Sometimes purple, sometimes turquoise. The pink is new, though. The crimson cloak. It looks like the one your father made for you when you were little. This one is beautiful," Andromeda whispered and Tonks' lips twitched into a slow smile as she stared at her mother.

She ignored the tears that stung her eyes.

"They call me Lady Red."

"How did you get involved with the Order? What do you do to help them? How did become the Fairest's Lady of Whispers?" Andromeda asked. Tonks flinched and looked away.

"If I tell you...will you think less of me?" Tonks asked.

It was one thing to reassure Harry. But, this was her _mother._

"Never, Nymphadora," Andromeda said. Tonks made a face and Andromeda laughed. "What? It's your name."

"Everyone calls me Tonks," Tonks explained.

Andromeda's expression faltered. "Your father."

"After my father. I'm Nymphadora Tonks. _Not_ Nymphadora Slytherin. And they call me Tonks because Nymphadora is such an unfortunate name," Tonks said, avoiding the looming questions and Andromeda scoffed.

"Nymphadora is a noble name for a noble woman. I will _not_ be calling you Tonks," Andromeda said, sharply. Tonks smothered her snort in her hand. "Now, answer my questions."

Tonks sighed and swallowed her hesitation. "I was raised in a brother. I was taught how to pleasure a man young. Not a child but I was...young. But, they taught me magic there too. They taught me how to pull information from a man as I whored. Taught me that being a Metamorphmagus was a gift. I could become a man's greatest desire and steal his secrets. And when I was a teenager, I came across a wild woman. I thought she wanted to kill me."

"What did she want?" Andromeda asked.

"A companion. I was intrigued. I would be able to stop selling my body like a common whore. She was wild, Mother. She was dark and powerful. We ran together and she taught me everything I know because I had one goal—to avenge Father. But, a time came when I had to leave the home to fetch something and when I returned, she was gone. I survived, resolved to kill the man that murdered my father but, then I came across Madame McGonagall and she recognized me for who I was and I told her the skills I had. And I became the Spymaster of the Order. Then...Harry, the Fairest, came and we clicked. He made me his Lady of Whispers."

Tonks was simplifying her journey but her mother didn't need to know the gory details of the things she had done for Pandora. No one needed to know. Only Remus knew everything. Tonks closed her eyes. She froze when Andromeda's lips brushed across her cheek.

"You are so strong, my child," Andromeda whispered so much conviction, Tonks wanted to weep.

"Am I?" Tonks asked, her voice cracking.

Andromeda hummed, wiping away stray tears. "Oh you are, my darling. So strong. Stronger than I, who has grieved yet done nothing to stop what has been happening. I have been passive, locking myself away in Westeron. I regret it," Andromeda said, quietly.

"But, you are here now," Tonks insisted and Andromeda nodded in agreement.

They sat in silence, drinking in the other's presence. Andromeda looked around the room as she tucked her daughter's head into the crook of her neck. It was a well-lived-in room. The bed sheets were rumpled but clean, the fire crackling merrily. But, it was the children's toys in the corner by the long crib that caught her attention.

"There is a child?" Andromeda asked, wide-eyed.

Tonks laughed. "Teddy. He's a child I found. He's like me. A Metamorphmagus."

"Where is he? I'd like to see your son," Andromeda said.

"I think he'd like to meet you too, Mother. He's napping in Remus' room now but when he's up—"

"Remus? A man?" Andromeda asked, her eyes alight with hesitant mischief and Tonks snorted in laughter, shaking her head.

"Yes, a man. Remus Lupin. You know."

Andromeda's lips turned down. "I know. A Marauder, then."

"Yes. He's a good man tho, Mother. But, he will not...he won't entertain...it's complicated," Tonks finished as she struggled to put Remus and her relationship into words. Andromeda looked at her with understanding and Tonks flashed a helpless smile.

"Well, I shall meet your son and this Remus," Andromeda said and Tonks nodded as she struggled to her feet. Andromeda stood up, gracefully, and Tonks couldn't stop _smiling_. Her _mother_ was here.

"Let me show you the camp," Tonks said, grabbing her mother's hand and tugging her from the room. They walk down the stairs and out the front door of the Burrow II. Andromeda lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the burning light.

"It's so bright here!" Andromeda said.

"That'll be Harry," Tonks laughed. "This right here is the very center of camp. The tents all belong to refugee families. They help with the growing of food, cooking, cleaning, healing, and washing. We all help. But, the Order members—at least, the high-ranking ones, live in the Burrow II with the King."

"And what's back there?" Andromeda asked, curiously, gesturing towards the stables and the ring that she had been presented to the King in.

"The stables, the training grounds, and the paddock. Come," Tonks insisted though she still hadn't released her mother from her grip.

The pair of Slytherin women walked past the training grounds first. Andromeda stopped as she saw the young redheaded woman from before. She had a quiver upon her back and a bow in hand. She nocked an arrow, and tilted her head, observing the multiple targets. And then the woman let her eyes close and she let the arrow fly. Andromeda's mouth fell open as the woman slowly walked, unleashing arrow after arrow, hitting each target dead center.

Tonks looked at her mother, smug at the young woman's display.

"Who is she?" Andromeda breathed.

"Ginevra Weasley," Tonks said. "She's been trained since she was a little girl and has been a part of the Order just as long as that. Zero chance of missing."

Ginevra Weasley paid them no mind. " _Accio_ ," she called, summoning her arrows back to her and then she began again.

Tonks tugged her mother along and they walked further towards the training ground. Andromeda could hear the shrieks of that dragon again, loud and proud. She looked at the training grounds further down and saw the King. He was dueling with a tall, lanky redheaded young man. Spells were flying back and forth—red jets and black flashes. Purple and blue. All lightning fast as if the Fairest had been training for years.

His beastly dragon sat at the edge of the paddock, its head extended far. The little lion cub sat in the shade of the dragon's head and right before the dragon stood Andromeda's brother, his arms crossed over his chest. The Lestranges stood on either side of him, mildly impressed.

" _EXPELLIARMUS!_ " the King roared, spinning with his sword and the redhead's wand flew from his hand. He brought up his ax towards the edge of the King's blade, and the Fairest wrenched himself back.

"What do you do now?" the redhead asked with a lazy grin.

"Kill him!" Tonks shouted. The Fairest barely twitched and nodded with a smile.

"I kill you."

"AGAIN!"

Andromeda jumped when she heard her brother's roar. She watched as the Fairest launched himself forward without a thought, kicking out and catching the redhead in the chest. The redhead laughed and stumbled back, grabbing at his wand. They crashed into each other. The redhead was similar to Andromeda in battle—volatile and brutal. Watching him truly fight would be a gruesome sight.

But, the Fairest moved like fire—all grace and fury. It reminded Andromeda of Lily and James. Lily's fire was in his bright green eyes and James' preciseness was in his movements. The Fairest spun with the wind, dodging what he could and blocking only when he had to.

"End it! Battle is fast and bloody!" Voldemort barked again.

The Fairest's lips curled into a snarl. " _Füir."_

And Andromeda's mouth dropped open as fire exploded around the Fairest, writhing like a menace. The grass beneath him blackened and curled, and turned to ash. And yet the fire did not touch him. The redhead dropped his ax and wand, raising his hands in defeat.

"Good. But, you can't do that every time you want to win a fight," Voldemort said.

Andromeda cleared her throat and stepped forward. "Narcissa won't be cowed by that for long," she added.

The Fairest turned to her, eyes narrowed with curiosity. He took a step forward, smiling softly at Tonks before turning back to Andromeda.

"Tell me what will cow Andromeda," he said. It was a demand but, there was something about him that made Andromeda want to give in.

"Your Grace—" she began.

"Harry," he corrected.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow but said nothing of it. "Narcissa is a cold woman."

"Fire melts ice," Rabastan added and Harry flashed the man a smile. Andromeda rolled her eyes when the man flushed. She gazed at Voldemort as his gaze hardened on his Death Eater.

 _Interesting._

"But, not always," Voldemort said, briskly. He stepped forward until he was in Harry's space. Andromeda raised an eyebrow when Harry didn't take a step back, only let the man linger in his breath. "What will you do when you face her or Draco?"

"Only you can kill either of them. You can't expect—" Rodolphus began to protest.

"Who kills who is neither here nor there," Voldemort said, shortly. He looked over at Andromeda and beckoned her closer. "Andromeda, give us your perspective on Narcissa's fighting style."

And so Andromeda was drawn into the war, her daughter at her side.

 **IS FAIREST**

"I'm losing myself. I can't...I don't know what to do anymore," Harry whispered, softly, curled into a small ball atop his bed, unable to take the rest of the world with its fire and its call for blood.

The moment he had seen Andromeda, he had wanted to push her towards Tonks. But, he knew that he had to put the empire first. The war and carnage that he would bring to the empire in his struggle for power. The heartbreak and the suffering and the tears. The black-and-white of the war was gone. The distinction had never existed and he had been so blind.

"Would you like advice?"

Voldemort's low, velvet voice drew him out of the pit. He stared into Voldemort's red eyes. They didn't pity him; they never did.

They looked at him with expectation.

The expectation that he would rise from the ashes like the phoenix his mother supposedly was, but never managed to be. The expectation that Harry would be a lion. Would be a _dragon_.

With every loss, every fallen body, Harry turned to ashes and he broke.

"Advice? I could use some of that, but yours? I'm not sure," Harry said, callously.

Voldemort's lips pulled into a smirk. "You're angry with me. You said it was hard to be angry with me."

"I said hard. Not impossible," Harry bit out. "You tore a mother and daughter apart."

"Are you only just coming to terms with this?" Voldemort asked, cruelly. He laughed, high and cold, and it sent shivers down Harry's spine.

It was a laugh that reminded Harry when he had been the prey and not the predator. The days when he had been just a boy and not the man. But, the boy was dead now, burned to ashes, and he had risen a man. Ollivander's warning still haunted his sleep, echoing behind his ears.

"I should've never made you my Chancellor," Harry whispered, his voice trembling.

Voldemort laughed again. "Why did you?"

"Because one day, you will be the man that I know you are and you will be worthy of it," Harry spat back, and Voldemort recoiled as if he had been burned. Harry grinned in triumph, looking at the expression on the Dark Lord's face.

"You have too much faith in me," the Dark Lord said, coldly.

"You have too little faith in yourself," Harry retorted and he sat up, reaching forward and brushing his fingers lightly across the Dark Lord's jaw, tracing the lines. "My Lord, you've lost yourself. Just as I have."

"I have always been lost," Voldemort said, coldly.

Harry laughed. "So have I," he said, conspiratorial.

"You are fire personified," Voldemort muttered. "Blowing this way and that way in the wind. Turning on the flip of a switch. Never sure where you stand. Never sure how you feel."

Harry rolled onto his back and sighed, the sound of a weary old man instead of the bright young man that he was. He lifted his hand up, staring as the Fire came without being called. It danced along his palm and down his knuckles, gathering around his wrist. Harry closed his fist and the flames extinguished.

"Perhaps," Harry allowed. "I must remind myself that at any time, I can be bitten by you, Tom. Every minute that you spend in my presence, I must remind myself of that because, every second, I grow to trust you more and more. No matter how many times a snake sheds its skin, it's still a snake."

Voldemort laughed again but, it was a warmer sound that made Harry's lips twitch into a smile.

"I have made a Vow. I am not in the business of dying," Voldemort said, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. Harry rolled over onto his side and propped his head up on his arm, his lips twitching.

"If there's anyone who can escape an Unbreakable Vow, it's _you_ , Lord Voldemort," Harry said.

And Voldemort looked at the man, this beautiful man that had tested all of his boundaries, that had bound them in blood and magic.

"Do you know why I made that Vow?" Voldemort asked, his voice quiet.

"Revenge," Harry said, sharply.

Voldemort turned on his back and closed his eyes.

"I told you that your parents threatened everything I held dear. I lied," Voldemort repeated, from that night that felt like years ago, the night that he had taken Harry. Now, it felt like Harry had taken something from him but, he wasn't sure what.

"I remember," Harry whispered.

"Narcissa took everything that mattered away from me. My choices. My immortality. My empire. My sister."

Harry. "You loved her," he whispered.

Voldemort hummed, softly.

"I cannot say that I loved her. That loved anything. But, she was my twin, and thus, one-half of me."

"You speak highly of her. That is love," Harry said, firmly.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "What a base emotion. Love. No. I found Bellatrix in the womb. We are bonded by blood, bone, water, and magic. I have known her before I knew myself. She is half of me. Half of my everything and anything."

Harry cleared his throat. He could call Bellatrix many things. Mad. Evil. Terrible. And yet, he could see the grief in Voldemort's face, in the way he clenched his jaw. Harry licked his lips, suddenly aware of how dry they were.

"That's why, then?" Harry asked, gently, as if he were speaking towards a skittish animal. He brushed a hand over Voldemort's bicep and Voldemort stiffened.

Voldemort's slowly let his eyes open and they bored into Harry's with an intensity that Harry had not ever seen. It was rage and it bubbled towards the surface.

"You think you know my family, Harry Potter? I have been fighting for the survival of my family since I was a boy. I have sacrificed and killed to retain the survival of my sisters and myself, and Narcissa _squandered_ it. We are Slytherins. Fear. Blood. Power. And we _never_ forgive."

Harry nodded, his heart aching, and he sighed, shaking his head.

"And I will aide you, to the best of my ability," Harry swore.

Voldemort looked surprised by Harry's resilience.

"You are beautiful, Harry Wildfyre," Voldemort said, quietly. "You might be the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my entire life."

Harry flushed and turned away, slowly sitting up, and shaking himself.

"Come on, get up," he said, rolling off the bed, and stumbling just slightly before he righted himself. Harry snatched his wand from the bedside and with one hand called the Fire, lighting his fireplace and the lamps all over the room. Voldemort frowned up at him and slowly sat up. " _Accio_ parchment and quill."

"What are you doing?" Voldemort asked. "And we need to work on your wordless spellwork. You'll need the element of surprise when on the battlefield. It isn't a proper duel if you're—"

"Yes, yes," Harry said, impatiently as he grabbed a book from his bedside table to use as a makeshift desk on his lap. "Come, we're going to work. You said we must treat with the centaurs, yes?"

Voldemort looked at him, his lips pursed. "It's late, Harry…"

"No, no. Neither of us are going to be able to sleep. Let's focus. Do something. Come on, help me write this," Harry said, pushing distractions on the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's lips twitched. Harry was not a subtle young man. But, he didn't speak to this. Instead, he bent his head towards Harry's and worked.

 **OF THEM**

Rusted iron bars held the stray magic at bay. The only constant of the large camp was the sound of clinking chains and the quiet weeping. Someone always wept even as the Aurors snarled and cursed at them to silence themselves. When they weren't silent, the Aurors raged at them anyway, throwing curses and spells that the creatures couldn't defend themselves from.

This was the first, and largest, outpost of Crowmere Camp.

Every cage was stuffed with creatures—centaurs, banshees, Veela, goblins, giants, and other Fae. Hippogriffs lingering in cages stuffed with feces and rotten food left in troughs for them to consume. The entire camp reeked of excrement and death, heavy blanket of it keeping the creatures low.

"The King is full of excellent ideas, you know. Just excellent."

"Oh, I _know_." She tittered, sweetly. "I've been saying for _years_ that we should adopt a harsher creature control policy. It's more important now than ever, with the war going on."

" _Especially_ with the—"

He was interrupted by the shrill cry of a banshee. The two watched as an overseer tried to reach into the cage again, with a sneer on his face. The banshee let out another cry, crashing against the bars, as if she could ever possibly escape magic-enforced iron. Her screams would've normally deafened a person but, that wasn't possible here.

The two observers exchanged glances before carefully making their way to the cage.

The pair of them were an odd couple. He was a portly old man, always dressed pinstriped robes and a rather unfortunate lime green pointed hat. The woman was even more unfortunate, with her frog-like face and penchant for a silly pink that befitted young girls far more than her. Her sausage-like curls bounced round her face, and she dragged her pink whip alongside her, creating a snake trail behind her.

"Madame Umbridge, the banshee is being...difficult," the overseer said, stiffly.

The woman let out a shrieking giggle, her lips pulled into a wide, terrible smile and she nodded, her pink bow twitching just so with her movement. She took a step forward.

And in a high, piercing voice, she said, "Think nothing of it, Mr. Thicknesse. I shall deal with this personally." The woman approached the bars and the banshee snarled at her, baring her teeth. The woman glanced over her shoulder. "Cornelius, how many lashes do you think would be appropriate?"

The portly man, Cornelius, mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. "I'm not sure, Madame," he said, gruffly, looking away, his lips pulled into a grimace.

"Very well," Dolores Umbridge said as she waved her wand, causing the barred door to swing open, and she smiled, sweetly, at the banshee. "You've hurt my Aurors, monster. Deep down, you know you deserve to be punished. Don't you?"

The banshee hissed, her black hair whipping around her young face. Umbridge lifted her whip, dangerously.

"Until the lesson sets in."

And then the whip cracked through the air, and the banshee _screamed._

 **ALL?**

Gabrielle shivered as she brushed her hair back from her face, her cheeks bright pink with merriment. The Manoir was bustling, applauding. It was full of dancing and laughter, all celebrating her marriage. Gabrielle looked over her glass of wine to her husband. Fenrir looked back at her, his eyes bright with amusement. Gabrielle leaned over, pressing a kiss to his bristly cheek.

"What was that for?" he laughed.

"Because I wanted to kiss my _husband_ on the cheek," Gabrielle mocked, and Fenrir let out a snarling laugh.

Instead of returning the peck, he grabbed a hold of her chin and laid an open-mouth kiss to her mouth. Gabrielle knew it wasn't proper but she fell into the rhythm of it easily, her eyes fluttering closed. When she pulled away, she knew her cheeks were flushed red. Fenrir smirked down at her.

"You look particularly Veela, today," he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

Gabrielle paled almost immediately. She ran her fingers through her flaxen hair and winced when she saw how pale and glowing the locks were.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?" she hissed.

Fenrir hummed. "You won't need to learn how to fight anyone off. I'll protect you," Fenrir said and Gabrielle was reminded of her absent sister again.

All day she had seen and heard things that reminded her of her absent sister. She had seen Brigitte Godard in a stunning set of robes, robes that could only have been crafted by Fleur's hand. They had Fleur's favorite desserts, a sweet little cookie with raspberry swirl on top. Even the robes, Gabrielle wore made her want to weep.

She had woken up that morning to a package from Fenrir, delivered by owl. It was a stunning set of wedding robes, embroidered with the cliffs of Afallon at the hem. Gabrielle had sent Fleur at least three invitations and each one had been returned to her with a loving note from Fleur accompanying it.

Gabrielle had been terrible to her and even still, Fleur loved her as if she were her own child.

Gabrielle might as well have been Fleur's child.

"What troubles you?" Fenrir asked, softly. "The wedding night?"

Gabrielle finished her goblet of wine and set it down. It filled itself back up again but Gabrielle turned away. She had consumed at least two goblets already and the world was stark in color and the people swirling around the dance floor looked like a hurricane.

"No. I will do my wifely duties," Gabrielle said, almost absent-mindedly. Fenrir snorted into his glass of harsher liquor, nodding in understanding. He waited. "Fleur wouldn't come because she doesn't believe you can protect us. That you can protect me."

"I understand that fear," Fenrir said, slowly. "But, she abandoned you. She didn't-"

"No," Gabrielle corrected. "I didn't give her choice. But, I want to prove to her that _I_ can protect me. I want you to teach me how to protect myself."

Fenrir smirked. "Anything for you, pretty girl."

:::

 **A/N:** Hello all! I know, this is a week late but I can explain!

I'm currently in Georgia and Hurricane Irma decided to pay us a surprise visit. It was rough but, I'm okay.

Anyway, here's the chapter. The next one should be out by next week. You know the drill: if you have questions or suggestions, I'm always down to hear it. I love hearing what you guys have to say! Thanks for reading!


	22. Chapter Eighteen

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Eighteen

Gabrielle's entire body ached.

Her neck and thighs were sore and the light blinded her eyes.

She had never been so happy.

Gabrielle rolled to the side, looking for her husband and she frowned when she saw that he was missing. She stretched her hand out towards his side of the bed. The sheets were still slightly warm but, that didn't mean much of anything. Fenrir was a furnace at the best of times, and there were warming charms on the sheets.

Gabrielle rolled out of bed and grabbed her wand from the nightstand. " _Accio_ dressing gown!"

She groaned as the dressing gown flew from an open door and smacked her in the face. Gabrielle cursed under her breath as she pulled it on. It was just her size too. Gabrielle's lips pulled into a smile as she felt the soft velvet against her body. She had never owned anything so luxurious. She went barefoot, her soles chilled by the marble floors.

"Fenrir?" Gabrielle called. "Fenrir?"

She heard no response. Gabrielle hummed to herself and frowned as she descended the stairs. She would check the library. That was always a good idea. Quietly, she walked towards the library even as her stomach grumbled. She couldn't quite voice her frustration when all she wanted to do was smile when she saw Fenrir at a small table in the library, a light breakfast spread waiting. He had already started to eat.

"Fenrir," she said.

She liked how she said his name. It reminded her that he was there. Whole.

He looked up and smirked at her, all teeth. Gabrielle remembered a time that she had been afraid of him. Not anymore.

"Gabrielle Greyback," Fenrir drawled.

Gabrielle _beamed._

"What's for morning meal?" Gabrielle asked as she slid into the seat opposite him, crossing her legs underneath her. She leaned up, peering at the varying sausages, some well-cooked, and others a little rawer.

Fenrir preferred his meat a little red.

"Sausages and eggs. A hearty breakfast," he said, pressing the plate over to her and Gabrielle reached forward, grabbing a sausage link with one hand and stuffing it into her mouth. Fenrir snorted at her.

"Why so heavy?" she asked after she swallowed and then began to shovel eggs and bacon and sausages onto her plate. She took the gravy, pouring it all over anything and dug in. She was _starving._

"We have to lot to do today and I thought you should...regain your strength," Fenrir said with a lewd smile. Gabrielle flushed and rolled her eyes.

Very pointedly, she swallowed her food. "If anyone was tired out yesterday, it was you, old man."

"If you say so, pretty girl."

"I _do._ Now, what do we have to do today? I wanted to lounge about and read and have sex and eat and read," Gabrielle pouted and Fenrir let out that growling laugh that was Gabrielle's very favorite and she drank the bitter tea that he favored so much.

"I'd like to give you my wedding gifts to you," Fenrir insisted.

Gabrielle's eyes widened. "Wedding gifts? I didn't…I didn't get you anything."

"Your presence is enough, pretty girl. First, I have this for you. You _are_ Mistress of the House," Fenrir said and he presented her with an enormous ring of keys. Gabrielle smiled brightly as they jangled and he slid them over the table to her. There was something rather ceremonial about it, daunting to have so much responsibility.

"Thank you, Fenrir," Gabrielle said, softly.

"You are Mistress of the House. These are your keys," Fenrir said, plainly. "I only ask of you one thing in return."

"Anything," Gabrielle said, immediately, and she meant it.

"There is a door that leads to a private room in my study. I ask that you not open that door. It's the only thing I ask. Can you promise not to?" Fenrir asked, and his voice was slow and steady as if she were a child. Gabrielle's nose wrinkled in annoyance and she nodded.

"Of course. I won't invade your privacy. I promise," she said even though she was curious now that Fenrir had brought it up.

But, her new husband had already moved on, pulling her second wedding gift from his side. It had been shrunken but Gabrielle pulled forth her sword as she placed it in her lap. She pulled her wand and whispered, " _Engorgio_."

It grew to its actual size and Gabrielle tore into it. She gasped when she pulled up the top.

It was a sword. Actual live steel that glinted beautifully in the morning light though it was a weapon of death. Gabrielle reached forward to touch it and whined when it stung. She snatched her hand back and looked up at Fenrir, betrayed.

He grinned at her. "You can't touch it until you know how to wield it. You want to learn how to fight?"

"Yes," she said, firmly.

"I will teach you with wooden swords first but, then, your training will be taken on by a friend of mine as you use live steel and other weapons. Is that acceptable, my love?" Fenrir asked.

And _oh_ , those words—my love—thrilled Gabrielle so much that she'd agree to anything. She nodded frantically, as she placed the top back on her gift and stood up, grabbing at Fenrir's hand, tugging him along.

"Let's go start. Now, Fenrir," she insisted.

Fenrir snorted but, he humored her. He stood and slowly they walked arm in arm to the unused ballroom. Gabrielle vibrated with excitement and she paused when she saw the two wooden swords. Next to one of the swords, on a chair, were her smallclothes, a pair of breeches, a tunic, and a plain leather jerkin.

"Change," Fenrir insisted.

Gabrielle smirked as she shed her dressing gown, all feelings of shame gone. She could feel Fenrir's eyes on her back and she slowly pulled on the clothing and ended it all by tying her hair back in a leather thong, the silvery blonde hair spilling down her back in a tail. She grabbed the wooden sword and turned on Fenrir, holding up with a grin.

Fenrir smirked. "You're holding it wrong."

Gabrielle faltered. "Oh," she sighed.

Fenrir rolled his eyes and walked up to her, grabbing the other wooden sword. He tilted up her chin and looked her in the eye, running his thumb over her bottom lip. He leaned down to kiss her and she melted into the kiss. He allowed it for only a few moments before he pulled away.

"You believe in the Dtrwies," Fenrir said firmly. Gabrielle shrugged a single shoulder.

"It's what my people believe in," Gabrielle muttered.

"There is an even older belief. The Dtrwies are the single female aspect of another God. The God of the first Fae and all those that still follow the movements of the celestials. They believe there is only one god and one of his names is the Stranger, Death. And there is only thing we say to the Stranger, Death," Fenrir said as he took Gabrielle by her chin, tilting her head up. His lips curled into a smile. "Not today."

 **MIRROR**

"Is this...are we safe where we're going?" Ron asked, nervously as they approached the sacred centaur grounds. Ginny elbowed her brother and he yelped, falling silent. He glowered at her.

"We're adults. We're only allowed on their lands because we have invitation to be here. But, any wrong move will make them rescind it so _be careful_ , Ron," Tonks warned.

Ron pouted. "Why is it _me_ that has to be careful?"

"Because you have a big fucking mouth. Now, shut up," Ginny snarled.

"Children," the Madame warned and they all fell silent at her single call. She nodded approvingly and looked ahead, grim-faced.

Harry stood behind Ron, Ginny, Tonks, and Madame McGonagall. He tried his best to ignore the hint of foreboding, even with Voldemort's steady presence at his side. Harry swallowed. He hadn't spoken to the Dark Lord properly since that night in his bed. Harry looked up at the far-reaching trees of the Forest. It gave the air a ghostly feel; Harry knew ghosts existed, in some capacity. Voldemort had told him. But, this felt like Death.

"Stay close to me," Harry whispered.

Voldemort's lips barely move. "Always."

Madame McGonagall leads the way into the clearing.

The centaurs are gathered in an enormous semi-circle. And they are all staring. Harry notices that the foals are missing. Hidden away. Well, centaurs had no reason to trust humans. Harry would've done the same.

He knows the leader immediately.

Bane is at least three hands taller than the others, his lower half covered in black glossy hair. The top part of him is just as furred, though the hair on his chest is thick and curly. He has a scar across his grizzled jaw and two swords strapped to his back, curving out dangerously to the side. The others have varying weapons, though most carry bows as lovingly crafted as Ginny's.

"Be cautious of Bane," Voldemort hissed into his ear. "He hates humans and he hates human rulers and he is far older than you think he is. He was born a few years before the Tabooed died. He knows the worst of humanity. Be _cautious_."

"Okay," Harry whispered back.

"Hello Bane. I am Madame McGonagall of the Order of the Phoenix," McGonagall said.

Bane looked at the woman, briefly before searching their party. "Where is the one called Albus? It is he who I treated with last."

Voldemort twitched at his side.

"He is no longer a member of the Order," McGonagall said, her voice cold. Her tone held every indication of what her words truly meant. Harry was surprised by the amount of control it took McGonagall not to turn and indict Voldemort with a stare.

"Which of you is the Fairest?" Bane called, sharply.

Harry was vaguely surprised. No one usually had trouble identifying him. He stepped forward, raising his hand awkwardly. "I am, Sir Bane."

"We have no need of your human titles here," Bane barked. "I am Bane. And you are...unidentified as of yet. These are the names given by the stars. The only names that matter."

Harry paused, unsure of what to exactly say. "I suppose...you're right," Harry allowed. "But, I am Harry Wildfyre—"

"Speak truly to me. You call yourself King," Bane barked. His voice is low and growling, but not exactly hostile. Not yet. His accent is thick, rolling and smooth. "That is your truth?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed.

"We read your letter. You come here to ask us to join your magic war. But, we are many and we have seen kings and queens rise and fall with the turn of planets. Why would we follow you? We will not bow to humans again," Bane warned and he took a step forward. As he did, the warriors along the inner circle all raised their bows and took aim.

Ron and Ginny made to raise their weapons but Harry held up his hand, frantically.

"I am not here to make you bow. Not now, not ever," Harry said. He scrambled for words to say, suddenly all plans and talking points missing from his head.

"He is Wyrdfod," Tonks called out, taking a step forward. " _Wyrdfod._ "

The centaurs all flinched back at the word, dropping their bows, watching Bane for his command. Bane's expression flickered and shifted. He slowly walked forward until he met Harry in the middle of the semi-circle, towering feet above him. Harry didn't back away.

"A name that does not _belong—_ "

"It does. _Adrfyas Raug_ said he would come," Tonks insisted and Harry looked at her with wide, confused eyes. Voldemort hadn't twitched. "He has come to defend us."

"You say 'us'. You are not one of _us_ ," Bane snarled.

"I am not one of them," Tonks hissed. "I am a Stranger. Pandora—"

Voldemort's nostrils flared.

"DO NOT SPEAK THAT NAME!" Bane roared and everyone fell silent. Even the birds had gone and Harry shivered from the tension.

"She is dead. But, Wyrdfod is here. And he will defend _you_ ," Voldemort said, coldly.

"The one with Mars' eyes has deigned to speak to us," Bane said, loftily, looking at him. "We do not need your defense from Narcissa Godkiller and her spawn."

"I am Kingmaker. He is Wyrdfod. And you do need our defense," Voldemort insisted. He stepped forward, looking at Bane, and held his hand out towards Harry. Harry stepped forward, looking up at Bane.

"Tell me. They call me 'Wyrdfod'. I do not know what it means but, I know it is important to you. I am here to ask your support in my endeavor to free this country from bondage," Harry said, earnestly and Bane tossed his head back and laughed, full of mockery.

"You are but a boy—"

"I have killed the boy," Harry snarled, lifting his chin and Bane fell silent. "With _fire!_ "

And he called the Fire to his hands. Bane's eyes widened as the fire exploded around them, swirling around them and some of the centaurs cried out, falling back. But, Harry heard the whispers between the cries— _Wyrdfod_.

"I am not here to conquer. I am here to treat. I am here to make your life better. Ally with me and when I win back the throne, you won't have to make do with only this patch of land. You will roam the Forests, free of me and my rule," Harry insisted as he looked around the circle and he slowly walked away from Bane, addressing all of the centaurs. "I am many things. I have many names. But, the only one that matters is Harry. I am Harry and before I was King, I was subject, as all kings should be. And I was subjected to torment and humiliation. I say, no more of that. No more!"

The centaurs watched him, curious and appreciative. Bane still looked at him, seething with suspicion.

Warily, he asked, "What do you want from us?"

"No," Harry corrected. "What do you want from me?"

"Your Grace," McGonagall said. He got hear the edge in her voice but, he ignored it, never looking away from Bane.

"How do you mean, Harry Wildfyre?" Bane asked.

"For years, we have taken your land, debased you as lesser beings. What can I do for you? I cannot pay for the sins of my people alone but, I can try to give you reparations," Harry said, firmly. He cleared his throat as he looked around. "I would give you the Forest to range through, though I'd like you to continue allowing safe passage to those that would travel along the roads. But, you would no longer be limited to your sacred places. You would be safe anywhere."

"And what do you know about our safety?" Bane snarled. "Even our sacred places aren't safe."

Harry faltered.

"What do you mean?" Voldemort barked.

"Centaurs have been gone missing while out on hunts while reading the stars. They are being taken by people like _you_. Magical people. My _brother_ was taken," Bane snarled, angrily, pulling one sword and he scoffed. "I do not care for your kings. Your kings take and take, breaking oaths long-held and spilling my people's blood as if means nothing."

Harry swallowed hard. _Draco._

"Creatures have been disappearing?" Madame McGonagall asked.

"Yes. Taken away in the name of the Godkiller's son. Stored in cages of iron that we have no hope of escaping from. Being broken into soldiers and slaves for human masters. We will not make you our master," Bane snarled. "Leave now or—"

"I am _your_ servant," Harry said, firmly. "I am a King. I am a servant to every person that lives on this empire. I live to serve you and the empire. And I will free these people."

Bane scoffed. "You are one?"

"I am many," Harry retorted immediately. He took a step back, looking at all of the centaurs, ignoring the looks of apprehension. The dread in Voldemort's eyes as he knew what was coming neck. Harry was going to be _impulsive._ "I swear to you that I'll free the people in the camps. I will find your brother and send him back to you. I will _die_ to do so."

Bane looked at him, judging his earnestness and Harry did not falter. Bane slowly sheathed his sword.

"You would swear this? By the stars? By the Seven of old? By the Stranger, Death?" Bane demanded.

"Harry…" Voldemort warned.

"Yes, I swear it," Harry said, hurriedly.

Voldemort tipped his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"If you do this," Bane allowed, "you will prove you are Wyrdfod, you will find my brother, and deliver my people from bondage. Then...and only then... will we ride with you."

"Then, we have an agreement," Harry said, firmly. "Now….what's the name of the nearest outpost of this...internment camp?"

 **MIRROR**

Hermione sat patiently in front of the mirror as Luna slicked Sleakeazy through her hair, preparing her for another harrowing day at court. Every day, Hermione attended court, at Daphne Greengrass' side, enduring the whispers about how the King's favor had turned to the new woman. The whispers about how beautiful and foreign Daphne Greengrass was. How kind.

How _queenly._

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Luna asked, carefully as she braided Hermione's hair down her back. It was growing too long for Hermione's liking but, Narcissa had been very clear that future queens had long hair.

Pansy had punctuated by talking about how beautiful and _long_ Daphne's hair was.

"I...I am not made for court, Luna. Not like Lady Greengrass," Hermione began, her voice trembling ever so slightly. She steeled herself. She would not be _afraid_ of something that she could handle. She was not afraid of anything. Not anymore.

"I think you underestimate yourself, Hermione. You have done admirably. You were brought to this realm against your will. You were taken from all that you knew and thrust into a group of people that thing you beneath them because you are a Muggleborn and foreign. You have suffered humiliation and pain at Draco's command. And still, you have displayed your strength. You have done _more_ than admirably," Luna said, firmly.

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink with both embarrassment and pride. Luna was right. She had survived. She would continue to survive if she did nothing else.

She would survive as long as Draco stayed intent on marrying her. Hermione didn't know her future husband well but, he was drawn to her still. Perhaps, it was the fact that she was foreign or that she challenged him. Or perhaps the fact that she was an easy target for him with no one there to protect her. A combination of all of them.

But, Daphne Greengrass. Daphne was bright, all laughter and joy and carefree in a way that Hermione couldn't afford. And Hermione was not a fool. She saw how Draco's eyes followed her. Daphne was just as exotic, and she was a Lady, raised by an ancient House of the empire. A disgraced House but, she was exotic and knew the customs of Albion. She was kind and beautiful and would bind House Longbottom to the Slytherins forever.

Hermione only brought one thing— _gold._

And that was what saved her life, every time.

Money made the world go round and in a world of war, gold bought secrets and power. That was all one needed to win a war.

And yet...and _yet._

"Daphne Greengrass is not my friend, is she?" Hermione asked, softly.

Luna hesitated. "I'm not...sure."

It was the first time that Luna had admitted to being unsure about anything. It did not bode well for Hermione.

"She will take my place if she stays any longer. He will favor her. He watches her, undressing her with his eyes during court, for everyone to see. He disgraces me," Hermione spat, thinking of the derisive and pitying looks she got from the court. The triumph in Pansy's eyes as she rode Draco's cock while Hermione had been made to watch. "But, I cannot leave. I cannot escape. He won't let me leave alive."

"The Dark Lord would never let him kill you," Luna said firmly.

Hermione let out a cold hard laugh, shaking her head.

"The Dark Lord knows about Narcissa and has done nothing. So does Andromeda. They have done _nothing_. And they can do _nothing_ to save me now," Hermione spat.

Luna's hands fell to Hermione's shoulders and squeezed tight. She leaned down, pressing their cheeks together as they looked at Hermione's reflection. Even after eating so well for months, Hermione still looked like a wraith. Sure, her cheeks had filled in but, the years had taken their toll on her. She looked so _tired_. She was so _tired._ Her bones ached, her marrow felt ancient.

"You are wrong. You will be saved," Luna swore. "By fire."

"Fire destroys. Fire kills," Hermione bit out.

Luna hesitated and she closed her eyes, pressing her cheek harder into Hermione's face.

"My mother used to tell me about the gods. The Dtrwies were the ones most Fae follow. But, my mother always said there were seven faces. But, only one always remained the same. Death, like air. And she used to say that there is only thing we say to Death," Luna murmured. " _Al-sîr."_

 **ON**

"May I help you, Miss Petunia?" Ginny asked softly.

"No." Petunia's voice was hard as she continued to knit her blanket by hand. "I don't want magic on it."

Ginny winced, her hands fluttering nervously. She crossed her arms, caught between understanding and irritation.

"I can do it without magic. I...I am a warrior, but before my mother passed, she taught me how to knit," Ginny said, earnestly. She winced again. She was unsure as to why she felt for this woman, even though she had treated Harry horribly, or rather hadn't treated him with anything but apathy.

"You can't help because a mother makes one for her children to protect them. Only a mother can make them," Petunia said, her voice stern.

Ginny frowned as she leaned forward, staring at the blanket. Her jaw dropped open slightly.

"My mother made these. Weaving walls is what she called them. My brothers and I all had one. But, you're a Muggle…" Ginny trailed off, nervously and she cleared her throat as she realized her words. Petunia stared at her with pale blue eyes.

"I am a Squib. A bastard Squib of a noble house," Petunia said. She didn't make any move to elaborate and Ginny wouldn't push. There was something about this woman. _Something…_ "I've made weaving walls before."

"For your son?" Ginny asked. "Did they work? My mother used to say that it protected us from disease. I wish it protected us from war."

Petunia looked at the hardened girl, slowly tilting her head in observation. She was the one witch that Petunia hadn't felt even a speck of resentment for. There was some sort of camaraderie she felt with this noble witch that had stopped to save Petunia and her Dudley. Perhaps it was the neverending grief that brewed in her eyes. The same type of grief that Petunia felt.

"Many years before this day, Harry Wildfyre came down with dragon pox. Little Whinging had no Healers or medi-witches. We had Muggles that tried their best. The village healers said if he made it through the night, he'd live. But, it would be a very long night," Petunia said, her voice long and hard.

She remembered that weaving wall. Crimson like his mother's hair. Gold like the crown he would one day be blessed with. Petunia had always known that one day they would come for him. They would take the boy that they had blackmailed her into taking.

"Harry?" Ginny asked, sadly.

"I sat with him all through the darkness, listened to his ragged little breaths, his coughing, his whimpering. When he arrived on my doorstep, I hated looking at him. This pretty babe that had been hoisted onto me in exchange for my life. This pretty babe that would be given anything because he was destined to beauty. So, I prayed to the gods. 'Take him away, make him die'," Petunia spat nastily.

She looked at Ginny, waiting for her condemnation. It did not come. Instead, Ginny waited for _her_ story. Petunia's story. Petunia had never had anyone—especially, not a witch—wait for her story. McGonagall had merely curled her lips at her and demanded this of her, to house the babe that would rule over four kingdoms. Had seen a Squib. Had seen a _blood traitor._

"He got dragon pox and I knew I'd condemned a poor child to a horrible death all because...it doesn't matter. I condemned the child, an empire to death. I prayed to _your_ gods. All seven faces. 'Let the boy live. Let him live and I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him'."

"And he lived," Ginny said.

Petunia sneered. "And he lived. He didn't even have the decency to scar. Instead, he grew into the most beautiful being in the world and I couldn't keep my promise to your gods. And I blame myself you know."

"For what?"

"For the torture, he endured as a child. After all, it was humiliating. Whore. Slut. Slag. The things men whispered to him. What they wanted to do to him. The things they tried to do to him. I had men asking to _buy_ him when he was only nine. All I said was no. I needed a boy to clean my house. To keep everything in order. Everything he's endured…" Petunia trailed off and she looked at him.

The King-Emperor.

How beautiful he was, with his sword in hand as he sparred with the Dark Lord. Dudley was terrified of Lord Voldemort but, Petunia could not find enough in her to care. She couldn't drag up the care that terror took. She was wrung dry.

"Everything he's endured," Ginny repeated.

Harry Wildfyre was glorious as he fought, swinging his sword to bat off the Dark Lord's assault, sending red sparks at the man that could not be beaten. His lips were pulled into a wide grin and he laughed as he sparred. Petunia had never heard him laugh before in her entire life. She had rarely seen him smile. Not after someone had told him how pretty he looked with that smile.

Harry spun into the Dark Lord's space and tackled him and the Dark Lord allowed it. The Dark Lord fell to the ground and Harry pushed him onto his back, straddling his legs, the flat of his blade pressed against his throat. The Dark Lord said something that made Harry laugh and toss his sword away before he rolled off the Dark Lord and sat in the grass next to him. The Dark Lord made no move to sit up, instead turning his head to speak quietly to him.

Petunia glanced at Ginny Weasley. Ginny Weasley watched Harry too.

"Everything he's endured all because I couldn't love a motherless child."

 **THE**

Rodolphus rode just behind Dolohov. The Lord of Godric's Hollow was single-minded in his approach of Godric's Hollow after Travers hadn't sent back a response to his last owl about how the preparations for the King's troops' arrival. The Dark Lord had sanctioned the expedition but, Rodolphus had the idea that the Dark Lord already knew what was to be found there. After all, he had sent the Lestranges with him.

"What do you expect to find?" Rabastan asked his brother softly as they galloped down the road, his voice nearly hidden by the sound of hooves.

"I'm not sure," Rodolphus allowed, unwilling to say anything incriminating.

They were close and yet, Rodolphus could feel the building magic. It was powerful Light magic, at that, more powerful than Rodolphus could ever remember Godric's Hollow feeling. The last time it must have felt like that was when Godric Gryffindor had still been alive.

"What…" Rabastan breathed as they finally approached.

Dolohov's horse skidded to a stop, rearing with a cautious whine. Dolohov was silent, his mouth wide as he stared at the great walls that surrounded his home. They had built a twenty-foot wall around the villages and the small castle just beyond the village. Dolohov dismounted and walked up to the gates, slamming his fists hard on them.

A hot sizzling and Dolohov yelped, looking down at his blistering fists. His face twisted into fury as he pulled his wand.

" _REDUCTO!"_ he roared.

The wards rippled under the spell but, only just. Rodolphus watched in dismay as Dolohov began to spit curses and spells at the ward, jets of white and blue. Green and red sparks. Rabastan dismounted and swiftly walked up to the man, grabbing his wand arm by the wrist. Dolohov turned his wand on him in his anger and Rodolphus immediately had his sword and wand out.

"Careful, Antonin," Rodolphus warned.

Rabastan showed no such caution. "You're only feeding the wards, Antonin. You need to stop. This is _powerful_ ward magic. Curse breakers did this. Arithmancers. Rune-makers. You cannot undo this. Not without the casters' blood."

Dolohov sputtered, his face turning redder and redder. He looked up at the walls and his face became bloodless again. He lifted a trembling hand.

"They...Torquil…"

He trailed off. Rodolphus followed the line of his hand and he paused. Torquil Travers' head was on a spike atop the walls, his eyes wide in his agony. The rest of his body hung next to his head, a charred husk and pinned to his chest was a long crimson banner, decorated with a rearing gold lion.

The Prince of Gryffindor had taken his ancestral home back.

"The Fairest was here. This is his doing," Rabastan said, his voice cracking in awe.

Rodolphus knew that their thoughts resembled one another's.

Luna spoke often about the Fairest. She said that he was great and terrible and breathed Fire. When Rodolphus and Rabastan had seen him, they had seen beauty. Great beauty, indeed, but not someone particularly terrible. They had seen power and a dragon but, not the fearsome being that Luna had waxed on about.

But, now, Rodolphus could see it.

He could imagine the Fairest running through flames, cutting person after person down. He could imagine one of those women—either Andromeda's girl or the hardfaced redheaded archer beheading Travers, the piece of shit.

"Lord Dolohov."

Dolohov turned his gaze from his best friend and looked at the young woman that stood beyond the gate. She was a slight thing, her face dark brown and her eyes wide, the color of molten toffee. She had hair pulled back into multiple plaits. She couldn't be more than twelve. Dolohov flashed her a leering look.

"Pretty Sally-Ann Perks. Won't you open the gates for me?" he hissed.

Rodolphus' lips curled into a disgust. Dolohov spoke to grown _women_ that way when they went to the whorehouses after a particularly harsh hunt. And here he was, speaking to a child that way.

"No," the girl snarled, like an animal.

Dolohov flinched back. "What did you say to me?"

"No," Sally-Ann Perks hissed. "I have a message for you. From the King of Albion."

"What does Draco Slytherin have to say to me?" Dolohov bit out.

"No. I have a message from _my_ King. The King in the South," Sally-Ann Perks snarled. And then she took a step back, lifting her chin with wide eyes. "' _I, Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, and Fairest of Them All, have taken back my ancestral home and I warn you now, not to attempt to take it back. The head on the wall was taken by a girl by the name of Ginevra Weasley. I give you this message on her behalf. She tells you this once and only once—run._ "

"Run?" Dolohov hissed.

"Run," Sally-Ann Perks whispered. "Will you run?"

"Never," Dolohov bit out.

Sally-Ann Perks smiled serenely. "She thought you'd say that. This is from Ginevra Weasley— _I will find you. I will seek you out unto the ends of the earth, and when I find you, you shall know my wrath. I will pull your teeth from your mouth, the teeth you sunk into the flesh of children. I will take your tongue, the tongue you laved across undeveloped breasts. I will take your cock, the one you use to torment. And I will take your life. Dream of me, Antonin Dolohov. Dream of me as I dream of the day you raped me in front of my parents' broken body. Dream of me until the day comes and when it does, remember I told you. Run._ "

Dolohov took a step back, his face trembling and Sally-Ann smiled.

"You will die, Antonin Dolohov," Sally-Ann Perks promised. "You will die in agony. She promised me. She _promised._ They _promised._ "

Dolohov didn't wait for her to finish as he mounted his horse and galloped away, back from where he had come. The Lestranges paused as the information washed over them. The two exchanged sickened looks and then looked at Sally-Ann Perks. She smiled sweetly at them and nodded.

"Do you have something to say to us too?" Rabastan asked, nervously.

Sally-Ann smiled. "The King sends his regards in fire and blood. Do not betray him." And then she turned walked back to the village.

The Lestranges exchanged glances. Dolohov was only a dot on the horizon now.

They followed suit.

 **WALL**

"The King's progress report is due in less than four days. What am I expected to tell him?" Madame Umbridge asked, her voice trembling with rage as she looked at Pius Thicknesse. Pius tried his very best not to quake under his gaze but, he was only mortal.

"I...I do not think we should tell him about _this_ , Madame," Pius said.

This being the burnt husk of Ludo Bagman. Madame Umbridge stooped over, looking like an enormous toad, and she snatched the parchment pinned neatly to Bagman's chest. She read over the scrawl, again and again, her eyes drawn to the seal at the bottom. There was no mistaking the author of the note.

The cause of death was consistent with the way he killed, and he had signed with his moniker.

 _THIS IS WHAT WE DO TO SLAVERS—THE FAIREST_

It was a terribly barbaric way to kill. To burn someone while their face was curled in terror, skin blackened and flaking in the wind. His hands were forever frozen, his fingers curled around a wand that had probably been turned into ash. Umbridge's lips curled into a disgusted sneer.

"What happened to all of the goods?" Umbridge asked of the creatures.

"They were gone. All of the cages were broken. He could have taken them but, it's more likely that he set them free. He's cost us hundreds of galleons in efforts," Pius snarled with disdain.

Good, so he knew how catastrophic this could be.

"The Lady Narcissa won't be pleased," Fudge said, nervously rubbing his hands together.

Umbridge sneered. "That is the _least_ of our troubles," Umbridge hissed. "He will come for the rest of them."

"How do you know?" Fudge asked.

Umbridge scoffed.

"'This is what we do to slavers'. We are the slavers that he would condemn. He will come here. And the King will lose his biggest source of firepower for his army. We cannot allow it to happen," Umbridge hissed. Quietly, she plotted, wondering after this _Fairest._

She would not lose her position. She had long been pushed to the side, a spare advisor of House Dolohov to the South. And now, she had been elevated to High Overseer of Crowmere Camp. She was Madame Umbridge. She would not _lose._

"What would you have us do?" Pius asked.

Umbridge leaned forward in her chair, her feet just brushing against the ground.

"We will...appeal to the Fairest. Offer him gold. Offer him anything. He cannot devastate this program. _He cannot._ "

"We don't know where he is," Fudge insisted. "How can we appeal to him if we can't find him?"

Umbridge only needed to cast him a look for him to fall silent. She looked for the answer amongst the Aurors that waited, to Pius who only stared down at the burnt husk of Ludo Bagman, probably wondering if he was next. She looked down at the husk and then the note in her hand and a wide smile spread across her face.

"Oh, we can find him. Centaurs are particularly good trackers, _especially_ when they have something that _belongs_ to the one that they track."

 **WHO**

"The Fairest of Them All."

Harry looked up from his books and slowly closed them as the Warden of the West glided into the room. Her skirts were a dark mustard yellow this visit, chainmail wrapped around her bodice. She didn't wait for him to extend invitations. Instead, she sat to his immediate right and watched him, waiting for his response.

"The Warden of the West," Harry retorted. His eyes grew bright with pleasure as Andromeda's lips twitched into a smile.

"My brother is quite taken with you. I see why," Andromeda said, plainly.

"Why?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You are _fire_ ," Andromeda hissed, tauntingly.

Harry paused. It was the first time that he had been _called_ fire. He lifted his hands, calling it to him. The Fire. The fire that lurked inside of him, in the empty space between his ribs and Andromeda didn't react with surprise. She looked like she had expected nothing less. Instead, she nodded, appreciatively.

"That's what they say," Harry finally said.

Andromeda snorted. Slowly, she said, "My brother is a fickle man. Yet...he has made an Unbreakable Vow with you. He has no intention of breaking it, to my knowledge."

"You think he could?" Harry retorted.

"If there's anyone that could avoid death, it would be my brother. What did my sister say? 'What do we say to the Stranger, Death?'" Andromeda murmured. "'Not today'."

Harry hummed. Bellatrix. He was learning about her more and more. No one seemed to like speaking about her and few had known her. They had seen her face, the face she had shown every year on Mortem Phoenix. They knew of her strange idiosyncrasies—her habit of speaking in plural, her power, her rage, her insanity. But none knew the woman.

"Tell me about her. Your sister, Bellatrix," Harry said, softly.

Andromeda's eyes held a painted gleam to them.

"I'd much rather talk about my brother. I heard what you called him. _Tom_." She says his name in a whisper as if he's in the room. As if he could hear them speaking of him.

"That's his name. Tom," Harry said, her voice firm.

"Do you know where the name 'Voldemort' came from?" Andromeda asked. "Has he told you about how he brought the Stranger, Death, to so many men and women's doors that he feared it himself? Has he told you about the flight from Death?"

Harry froze as he looked at the woman's gleaming eyes. She enjoyed having knowledge over his head. It gave her power. Harry would allow her to keep it. Instead, he smiled, even as his stomach turned. This was the only living woman that could say that she knew Tom Marvolo Slytherin better than him, and it made him irritated. Nearly... _angry._

"No, he hasn't. But, he will," Harry said, so sure of himself.

Andromeda's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I bet he will. _Melui_ - _âr."_

"Don't call me that," Harry bit out.

Andromeda laughed.

"You let him call you that. You let _Tom_ call you sweet things, 'sweet king'?" she mocked even as Harry blushed, looking down at the table. "Does he call you those things when he takes you to bed?"

"I am not a _whore_!" Harry snarled, slamming his hand on the table.

Andromeda looked at him again. Every time she looked at him, she was stricken by his beauty. He was gorgeous but, it was the fire in his eyes, the rage that twisted his face that made him even more so.

"I never called you one. Even if you were sleeping with him," Andromeda said, softly. "I never called you one. Who called you that?"

Harry flinched back, as he realized that he had tipped his hand. He bit his lower lip and turned his face away, bringing a hand to his eyes. He swallowed his humiliation and turned back to her, his eyes hardened.

"I do not need your pity. Your pity does nothing for me," he said, his voice flat.

Andromeda's eyes widened and she smirked. "What _do_ you need from me, your Grace?"

"Westeron. I need to move my camp there. Draco's forces are growing too close. And, as you can see, our camp has grown," Harry said, referencing the creatures he had freed from a Crowmere Camp outpost and Andromeda hummed.

"Ah, the creatures. You would free the creatures. Why?" Andromeda asked, steering the conversation away from her brother. Harry leaned forward, his eyes narrowed.

"Because I know what it is like to be made a slave, to made to feel subhuman, and I wouldn't wish it upon anyone," Harry said, firmly.

"You are a Prince. A King," Andromeda corrected.

Harry snorted. "I wasn't always Harry Wildfyre. I used to be Harry Evans, the bastard nephew of two Muggles. Too pretty for his own good, too lazy though I did all the housework. Too stupid to go to school after I turned fourteen. Too much of a freak for friends. Too much of a whore, not good for anything but spreading my legs," Harry spat, nastily and Andromeda swallowed at the sound of his words. Harry looked at her as if searching for pity and he smiled when he found none.

"You remind me of a girl I know," Andromeda said as she moved towards the window and looked out. Nymphadora was outside, with that sweet boy that Andromeda had met—Teddy—and that man that avoided her, Remus. "A girl with the will of a thousand and a spine of steel."

"What is her name?" Harry asked, softly.

"Her name is Lady Hermione Granger and she has seen much. She has lived through much. And yet, she survives. You are the same in that," Andromeda said, quietly as she turned back to the King. He didn't turn in his chair to look at her. Andromeda crossed back to her seat and sat down.

"The Usurper's betrothed," Harry allowed, softly.

"You will have Westeron. You will have all of the West as your resource. But, please... _please_ save this girl," Andromeda said earnestly.

Harry looked at Andromeda with a smile. "I never intended not to save her. No one deserves to be a slave."

Andromeda's eyes widened and she leaned forward, grabbing his hands in hers. Harry flinched in surprise but didn't pull his hands away.

"My brother doesn't _deserve_ you," Andromeda spat.

"W-what?" Harry rasped.

"They call me Empath like they call my brother Kingmaker. He doesn't _deserve_ you," Andromeda insisted and Harry opened his mouth to speak when the door swung open with a heavy thud.

The two looked up sharply at the man.

Voldemort's eyes glowed red.

"Andromeda," he said, coldly.

Harry stood sharply, grabbing his book and pulling it tight to his chest. He looked between the two siblings.

"I'm going to...I'll be outside with Tonks," Harry said, firmly. He moved to walk past Voldemort and froze when the man grabbed him by his arm, tugging him towards him. Harry looked up at Voldemort, wide-eyed.

Andromeda snorted when Voldemort tilted Harry's chin up and he kissed him. It was a long, filthy, possessive kiss that really only lasted seconds. Harry pulled away, sharply and he stared, his cheeks flushed. And then he slapped Voldemort across the face, his eyes hard. Voldemort's head snapped to the side, his cheek blossoming red.

"I am not your pawn," Harry snarled.

Voldemort's lips pulled into a terrible smile. "Yes, your Grace."

Harry snarled and stalked from the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Andromeda watched her brother, unimpressed. The two siblings observed each other. Every conversation between them was a game of chess and Voldemort had made the opening move. Andromeda snorted. She was ready to put him in check.

She could taste the answers on her tongue. The _emotions_.

"You're in love with him," Andromeda drawled.

Voldemort's war eyes narrowed.

"I cannot love—"

"Don't bother trying to lie to me, Tom. I can taste it," Andromeda laughed, full of spite. Voldemort watched her carefully. "What? Did you think that because you gave me my daughter, I would forgive you? You murdered my husband, brother."

"I would do it again," Voldemort hummed.

"Oh, I know," Andromeda hissed. "He wants you."

"Oh, I know," Voldemort mocked and he leaned against the door, never taking his eyes off of Andromeda. She had him cornered. She grinned. "He is enticing. Beautiful. But, I cannot love."

"You don't deserve him either way," Andromeda said, her smile dropping into a glower. "You will poison him, just like you poison everything else around you."

"How so?"

Andromeda stood up, slamming her hands on the table. "You're the reason Bella went mad. The one that pushed Narcissa, put pressure on her until she became the woman she is. _You're_ the one that made us monsters! If you hadn't killed those—"

"Our father put a sword in my hand long before I ever wanted to pick one up," Voldemort hissed back and Andromeda fell silent. "If you want to blame someone for the monster you see in the mirror in the morning, blame our _father._ "

Andromeda fell silent and she slowly stood, walking towards her brother. Voldemort didn't move as she pressed her hand against his jaw.

"They used to say we lived fairy stories. But, do you know what I see when I see you?" Andromeda whispered.

"No."

Andromeda closed her eyes. "A tragedy."

 **IS FAIREST**

 _My dearest cousin,_

 _I write to you for a number of reasons, none lesser than the other, and yet, greater than anything we've ever discussed before._

 _But, before we engage in our business, I ask after your health. I hope that you are eating and sleeping. I hope that you do not take on too much. I hope that you would delegate, no matter what you think me a hypocrite to command something of you that I struggle with myself. You must learn to utilize our advisors. You know as well as I how useful they can be when they are properly directed. Remind them that you are my regent. Do not let them intimidate you._

 _Now, young cousin, we must discuss business._

 _You must have heard by now that your cousin, my sister the Queen Bellatrix, is dead. Her death has led to the ascendance of my nephew, Draco. This has been orchestrated by my sister, Narcissa. She has murdered my sister and placed her son on the throne as her pawn. We are at the edge of war and she fights to maintain her dominance over throne. My brother, the Lord Voldemort, has been forced to relinquish his control of the council to Draco and his mother after key replacements to the members of the Council. Left and right, he is being betrayed by his Death Eaters._

 _I know. There is no love lost between my brother and you. He did your family great dishonor. He did your_ brother _great disservice. But, I implore you to continue reading my letter before tossing it into the fires. For, my brother has, for once in his life, done something that will serve us well._

 _He has bound himself to the rightful King-Emperor of the Albion Empire, Harry Wildfyre. The Prince of Gryffindor and the Fairest of Them All. And, I have bent the knee and promised my cause and arms to him as well._

 _Before you despair, remember, this man is your brother's godson. Harry Wildfyre is a good man. He is as kind and just as he is beautiful and my brother has fallen in love with him._

 _Yes, I do not jest._

 _He denies it. Of course, he would. But, I know. You know I know._

 _But, this man would unite the Empire in peace. A peace that hasn't known for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. You know under my father's reign, there was still unrest. They sent boys to wars and they became monsters. But, this man—Harry Wildfyre—would be the change that the world needed. I ask you to think on this, dear cousin. I ask you to think because, in due time, Harry Wildfyre will bring his camp of refugees and soldiers to Westeron as their base._

 _With him, my brother will come. I am sorry but, it must be done. For the good of the realm. For the good of Afallon. For the good of us._

 _And one day, your brother, Sirius, shall be free._

 _All my love,_

 _Andromeda Slytherin,_

 _The Warden of the West_

Regulus slowly set down the letter and lifted his wand, keeping his face as impassive as possible. He pressed the tip of his wand to the letter and watched the fire spread for the center. The paper blackened and curled and turned to ash. Regulus still didn't react. He swept his wand, Vanishing the pile of ashes and he looked at the faint scorch mark on Andromeda's desk. He considered her words for only a moment.

Regulus would do as his Lady bid. Andromeda had taken him after Sirius had been thrown in Azkaban. She had raised him into the proper Lord of House Black. She had done everything for him and so, he would do what she asked.

But, he knew she remembered.

Regulus would _never_ forgive and _never_ forget.

 **OF**

Court was harrowing. It always was.

Hermione sat below the King at midday meal. Narcissa sat next to his right and the Dark Lord to the left. Andromeda to the Dark Lord's left. The four Slytherins were absolutely silent, eating their meal as if the tension couldn't be cut with a knife. Hermione was situated a few tables away, surrounded on her right by the girls that wouldn't talk to her. They were monopolizing Daphne's attention at the moment and so Lady Greengrass couldn't speak to her either. To Hermione's right were a group of nobles that were speaking in soft tones to Neville, probably about his greenhouses and potential trade.

And here Hermione sat. Alone. _Again._

In the Republic, she had never had many problems with being alone. Really, she craved it, as long as she had good book to read. But, here, Hermione read books in secret and magic was forbidden to her.

Angrily, she stabbed at her cut veal and chewed viciously.

"Lord Crouch," Pansy tittered suddenly, batting her eyelashes.

Hermione looked up, expecting Bartemius Crouch. She did a double take as the younger Crouch straddled the seat across from her, his lips pulled into a grin.

"That's my father's title. Not mine. I am no Lord," Barty Crouch said, dismissively.

"Barty," Hermione said with a tiny smile. She didn't give a damn about propriety when addressing one of her only friends.

Barty winked at her. "Lady Granger," he teased.

" _I_ am no Lady," Hermione snorted.

Pansy rolled her eyes and looked at Millicent Bulstrode sideways. "Clearly."

"Little bird, can you still cast your Patronus even in this place?" Barty asked.

It was sure to confuse Pansy and the other girls but, Hermione knew the question for what it was. He was asking if she was okay. If Draco had hurt her since the last time that they had spoken. Hermione's lips pulled into a smile so big it was nearly painful.

"I think I can. I haven't had the time to try," Hermione said.

" _You_ can cast a Patronus?" Pansy asked, in disbelief.

Daphne looked intrigued. She scooted closer, leaning into Hermione's side. Hermione tried her best not to stiffen against the girl. She liked Daphne quite a bit but, still, she wasn't sure who she could trust in the hellhole that was Hogwarts. Really, Hermione couldn't trust anyone but Luna and herself. Not even Barty, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Is it corporeal?" Daphne asked, eagerly.

"It's an otter," Barty supplied, proudly.

Hermione laughed. "You only know because I've _told_ you that."

"Well, I'm just proving that I listen to you," Barty teased and Hermione laughed again.

She didn't care how it looked. That she was laughing and speaking with another man. In fact, she reveled in it. She glanced up at the high table from the corner of her eye. All four Slytherins were watching. The eldest three were emotionless, as Hermione had expected. But, Draco looked torn between rage and intrigue. His eyes going between Hermione and Daphne in equal turn.

 _Good_ , she thought. _Watch me. Want me. Never look away._

At the table just below the Slytherins were the council members. Her beloved brother watched with his green eyes. He would've heard about the library. Lord of Whispers. Good. _Good._

"You seem awfully familiar with Lord Crouch," Pansy cooed, softly, poisonously.

Perfectly.

"Ah, yes. We're friends," Hermione drawled, looking at Pansy with a wide smile. "How you and Draco are friends."

Pansy's eyes narrowed and she drew back, temporarily cowed. Daphne glanced at her, slightly impressed, a smile twitching around her lips. Hermione turned her gaze back onto Barty and she perched her chin on her hand.

"Tell us about being a Death Eater, Barty," Daphne pleaded.

Barty snorted. "It's a lot of boring shit usually. The Dark Lord won't let us fight in the war," Barty sighed.

"Why not?" Daphne asked, curiously.

Barty finally hesitated, if only for a moment. Hermione cataloged the moment to analyze later. She would go over it with Luna. Perhaps, now that everything was out in the open, Luna would be more honest about what Rodolphus was up to with the Dark Lord. If Rodolphus knew anything at all about the Dark Lord's frequent disappearances and reappearances.

"Because my Death Eaters are that, Lady Greengrass. Mine."

The ladies all froze. Even Hermione paused under the Dark Lord's crimson gaze. She hadn't even seen him move, he was so quiet. Only Barty stayed relaxed in the Dark Lord's presence. He tilted his head back, grinning up the man.

"My Lord," Barty drawled.

"Barty," Voldemort said before he smacked the man on the back of head. Barty's head flew forward but, he did nothing else to react, only taking the hit. Barty sighed, looking up at the Dark Lord, waiting. "Watch yourself."

He looked discreetly up at the high table and the council's table. Bartemius Crouch watched.

"Yes, my Lord," Barty muttered.

The Dark Lord nodded. He didn't acknowledge the rest of them and yet, still, Hermione could somehow feel his eyes on her. He left the Great Hall and as soon as he left, the chatter erupted once more. The somberness of the moment was swiftly over but, Hermione still felt cold. She opened her mouth to question Barty when she heard it.

"Fairest? Don't know about no Prince of Gryffindor but, it's surely the Wraith of Hogwarts. She all skin and bones but, I bet she's really tight."

Hermione shuddered when she realized that they were talking about her. The drunkards by the corner of the Great Hall were nearly shouting at each other to be heard. Unknown to them, they were being heard by nearly all. Hermione looked down at her plate as she was being debased.

"I'll shut them up," Barty hissed, irritated. He stood up.

"Nah, it's the new 'un. The exotic one. That Greengrass lass looks so soft. Always got her teats on show. Bet they're nice and perky—"

"Narcissa!"

The rest of court fell silent even as the drunk men did not, guffawing and laughing as if the King's mother was joke. Draco's face was twisted in rage but, Narcissa stilled him with a hand to her wrist. She was waiting for their words.

"Narcissa is old, now. Used to be the prettiest, almost. Especially towards the end. Bellatrix was a right beauty. Narcissa was cold. Like she was untouchable. Like that in a woman."

"Unfuckable now!"

"And old bitch in—"

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

The green light erupted and the man dropped dead, his strings cut. Hermione gaped as Narcissa slowly walked down from her table, down the aisle, her wand held aloft. Narcissa swept her wand, Summoning a sword into her hand. The men scrambled back, preparing to draw weapons but froze when they saw who approached.

"M-my Lady, we apologize. We didn't...we meant no," the man trailed off, shuddering.

Just Aurors who had been honored with sitting at court for the midday meal. No more. Hermione shook her head.

Fools.

Narcissa didn't respond. She swung the sword with the practice of a warrior and neatly sliced through the man's jugular. He gurgled once, collapsing onto his back. Narcissa threw the sword down into his chest, twisting so hard that his ribs must've cracked from the pressure. She ripped out the sword, splattering blood on her sky blue skirts.

Narcissa looked at the two remaining men and raised her wand. " _Crucio_ ," she whispered.

One man crumpled, screaming louder than anything Hermione had ever heard. He twisted and writhed on the ground, his face speckled with his friend's blood. Even when Narcissa looked away, bored, the man continued to scream, twitching as if he had been struck by lightning. The last man looked ready to run but one look from Narcissa kept him still as a mouse.

"Sister," Andromeda drawled. "Mother always said not to play with your food."

Hermione glowered at the woman. Andromeda still called Narcissa 'sister'. Like she didn't know that Narcissa was a kinslayer. Like she was okay with the fact that Narcissa was torturing these poor men.

"They must die," Daphne whispered in her ear like she knew what Hermione was thinking.

"This is senseless," Hermione snapped softly.

"They slighted her. Narcissa Slytherin. One of the greatest witches alive. Have you considered that? What must it be like to be reduced to your beauty when you are one of the most powerful people alive? They must die," Pansy snarled, angrily, furious on the woman's behalf.

Hermione looked helplessly at Barty. Barty looked down at his plate.

The man was still screaming. And suddenly, he stopped. Hermione stood to watch him. He was frothing at the mouth, his eyes rolling around in his head as he lay on the ground, limp, barely breathing. Another green light and he was dead too.

Narcissa turned to the ringleader of it all. He stared at the mess of his friends in horror.

"What did you say about me?" Narcissa asked, her voice soft.

"I...I...my Lady, please. I'm _sorry_ ," the ringleader stammered.

Narcissa's lips curled into a smile. "I accept your apology," she said firmly.

"W-what?" the ringleader whispered.

"I accept your apology. You apologized, so you may live. But, you still must be punished. Dolohov! _Elinguem._ "

The man's tongue was ripped from his mouth and landed limply in Narcissa's outstretched palm. Blood spilled over her fingers, coloring the edge of her sky blue sleeve. Blood poured from the man's mouth and he opened his mouth, wordless screams emerging out of agony. He tried to speak but, without a tongue, he could not.

Antonin Dolohov stood at Narcissa's side, a hint of admiration in his eyes as he looked at the woman. Narcissa's fingers closed around the tongue and she closed her eyes for just a moment, taking a deep breath to gather her rage. When she opened her eyes again, she was like ice once more.

"Is that all, my Lady?" Dolohov asked as if goading her.

"Azkaban," Narcissa hissed. "You will remember me, friend. I will visit you every week, and you shall see my face. And you shall dream about the day you slighted Narcissa Godkiller."

 **THEM**

They met in the hallway.

Lucius always walked this corridor towards his Lord's study. It wasn't one that servants commonly used, especially when there weren't guests in the castle. Of course, there were guests in the castle due to court being in session but, still, it was still early. Court hadn't started just yet. Guests were still in their rooms, dining on the hearty breakfast that cost many coins. Lucius wondered if Narcissa was going to end that soon.

No use draining the coffers of the crown to feed frivolous nobles.

But, that wasn't truly the point.

Lucius always walked the particular corridor to his Lord's study. It was near a secret passageway that led from Lucius' rooms to the Dark Lord, allowing him to reach his Lord within minutes.

But, they met anyway.

Father and son stared at each other for a long time, as if they had never quite seen each other before.

"Father."

Draco's voice was empty of a whine. Lucius couldn't remember a time that his son had sounded like a man. He sounded like a man, then. There was no whine or fury. Just an absent-minded greeting, as if his mind rushed with thoughts, as a king's mind should.

"Draco," Lucius said.

Draco didn't seem to mind that Lucius hadn't called him 'your Grace'. He didn't leave either. He just stared at his father, the man that ghosted through the hallways. The man that he resembled greatly and yet, had never truly had a conversation with.

"I…" Draco frowned as if he weren't sure what to say.

Lucius swallowed, bewildered by the whole ordeal. "You are up early," he said, instead.

"I didn't go to sleep," Draco muttered.

"No?" Lucius asked, his voice cracking slightly. Draco seemed not to notice, looking at the wall instead, his gaze out of focus.

"No. I was working."

"Working?" Lucius asked.

"I am the King. I do my kingly duties. There is a war. I intend to win it. And so, I work," Draco said, so short and hesitant. He looked at Lucius then, with sharp gray eyes. Lucius' eyes. Lucius' father's eyes. Malfoy _eyes._ "Mother used to say I looked like you."

"Used to say?" Lucius hated himself for only answering in questions but, he didn't know what else to say.

What was there to say to the son that you were working to overthrow? The son that would inevitably die due to his mother's sins? _His_ son. His boy.

"She doesn't anymore. She says that I am not a Malfoy. I am a Slytherin. Only a Slytherin," Draco said, quietly. He crossed his arms and looked up at his father, eyes wide.

"You are my son. You are a _Malfoy_ ," Lucius said, his voice trembling. "At least, you should have been. I should have—"

 _Protected you._

"Draco?"

She turned the corner, her eyes narrowed on Lucius. Ice blue eyes. In certain lights, Draco's eyes were the same color. But, not then. At that moment, the morning wasn't as strong as it could be and so his eyes were soft and gray.

"Mother," Draco said, smiling gently at her. Narcissa swept forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Draco didn't return it but, his eyes seemed warmer.

"He didn't sleep," Lucius supplied, helpfully.

Narcissa hummed. "My darling boy, you must sleep. Now, come, we will break our fast together and then you shall ready yourself for court."

"There's so much work to do," Draco whispered. "There's a war."

"I know, my love. But, the war can wait. It will wait," she said, her voice breaking and cracking as she smoothed her hands over his face, trying to turn Draco's head to her. He looked down at her, the lost little boy that Lucius should have saved.

 _I should have saved you_ , he thought.

"Fire does not wait," Draco said, sharply, his voice stronger.

"It will wait today," Narcissa barked, with no room for argument. Draco drew back and nodded once. Narcissa's gaze softened and she took Draco's hands in hers. "Please. Please eat, my love. For your mother?"

"Aye, Mother," Draco said softly and he let her lead him away. And then, he stopped. He looked over his shoulder at Lucius, with that curious gaze in his eyes. Lucius couldn't tell what they meant. He didn't know him well enough to know how to read Draco's eyes. _His_ eyes. Malfoy eyes. "What should you have done, Father?"

"I don't remember anymore," Lucius said, his voice quiet.

His mind roared. _Coward._

Draco closed his eyes slowly, a sad smile spreading across his face. When he opened them again, his eyes were cold like ice and he looked like Narcissa's child. Narcissa's son. _Slytherin._

"Goodbye, Father," Draco said.

Narcissa glared and tugged him along.

Lucius lifted his hand and whispered. " _Goodbye,_ Draco Malfoy _._ "

Draco twitched as if he had heard. He looked over his shoulder one more time and nearly smiled.

 **ALL?**

Pius Thicknesse was a shrewd man.

He was careful and watchful and knew when he was being intimidated. He was an overseer of the main Crowmere Camp for a reason. So, he knew that he was being intimidated as he was escorted into the Order of the Phoenix's camp.

The grounds were deserted but for soldiers that stood in battle robes, flanking him as he walked into the village, a heavy chest carried between two dim-witted trolls and a centaur woman that had led him to this camp. Her chest and were heavily scarred but only her breasts were covered by the leathers that Umbridge had allowed.

Pius looked around. A parade of hard-eyed redheaded warriors flanked him, bringing him deeper into camp, towards the very center. Pius saw the cottage and wondered if the deal would be made in such a humble little place. Except, the older woman that led them—Madame McGonagall, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix—continued past the cottage, and around the stables. They were nearing a paddock.

Pius flinched when he heard a terrible shriek, unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was not the shriek of a banshee but, something far more terrifying and foreboding.

Pius saw him first.

The Fairest was as beautiful as the stories claimed.

He sat in the middle, dressed in fine crimson robes, a coronet weaving into his hair, along the back of his head. The Fairest's eyes burned bright green and his lips looked like they had been bitten raw. Pius had never taken a man to bed and had never had the urge to do so but he would take this man, if he could. This beautiful man.

And then Pius saw the rest. The albino lion cub that lounged in his lap. The enormous scaled beast that stood crouched next to him. Its poison yellow eyes were steady on Pius. Pius flinched back because if what he was seeing was true, this had to be a _dragon_. Dragons were extinct, and yet…here was a dragon. A dragon bigger than a horse.

"Now comes Pius Thicknesse, overseer of Crowmere Camp, to offer terms of peace," a woman with thick pink curls and donning a red cloak said. Pius nodded as he took a step forward. He winced again as the scaled beast let out a screech that nearly everyone flinched from except for the Fairest.

The Fairest hadn't spoken yet.

The woman continued, "Sir, you are in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, and Fairest of Them All."

The Fairest lifted his head. "You may approach," he said. "Conjure him a seat."

Even his voice was alluring.

Pius walked closer as if entranced. Madame McGonagall conjured a chair for him. It placed him at a lower level than the self-proclaimed King but, Pius didn't mind.

"Speak," Madame McGonagall commanded.

Pius nodded and raised his chin. "Honorable and ancient are the Houses that have been chosen by King Draco to do his bidding. We are bound to him by blood and oaths and the Gilded Throne crafted in the ancient name of Slytherin. We are powerful and magic is might. You will not find us easy to subdue, your Grace," Pius said coldly and Harry Wildfyre raised an eyebrow.

He leaned forward, with a seductive smile on his face. "The name Gryffindor is just as ancient. My name was old when dragons stirred the earth. So, do not speak to me about ancient honor, Sir."

Pius watched as Harry Summoned a large shaved sheep and barked out a command in an ancient language that he did not understand. He flinched as the dragon shrieked and lunged forward, spitting fire onto it and devouring it to the left of them. The dragon spat and snarled and the smell of burning charred meat filled Pius' nose.

"If blood is your desire, blood will flow," Pius allowed, covering his nose. "But, why should it come to this? Yes, we are loyal to _our_ King...your King…but, we are not fools. Bring it forth!"

Harry Wildfyre sat back in his chair, waiting as the trolls lumbered forward, the trunk swinging back and forth in their hands. They set it down before the Fairest of Them All. The girl centaur walked forward and bent over to lift the trunk open. Harry Wildfyre was staring at her, something soft in his green eyes.

"What is this?" Harry Wildfyre asked, softly.

"Galleons. 10,000 Galleons. We offer it to you in exchange for you leaving Crowmere Camps alone. We are not concerned with your war. Only maintaining the welfare of the _humans_ of the empire. These creatures...what do they mean to you? They are nothing. They mean nothing. So, in exchange, for leaving _nothing_ alone, we offer you a gift," Pius said, firmly and he waited for the Fairest to speak.

And then the Fairest smiled.

"I have a gift for you as well," he said, standing from his chair and he hissed the language again. The dragon lunged from its meal, curling around the offered trunk of gold as the trolls staggered back, dim. "Your life."

Pius rocked up from his chair, pulling his wand immediately. "What?" he barked.

"But, I want something in return," the Fairest said, sweetly. "I will take these creatures. These two trolls, this centaur woman, and they are mine now. And you will go to your main outpost, and you will free the creature. Every man, woman, child and anything in between. And you will pay them for their servitude and their pain. Reject this gift, and you will not learn mercy."

Pius took a step forward, snarling, his shrewdness leaving him in his fury.

"You are not my _King_. But, you are mad. We are the servants of the King Draco and he would take great pleasure in knowing where you are and destroying you," Pius barked out and he looked over Harry, allowing him a lewd look. "Perhaps you'd be a slave as well. The whorehouses could always use another bed slave."

The dragon shrieked angrily and Pius staggered back, looking at the centaur woman. She shivered, taking a step forward but, Harry Wildfyre shook his head.

"How rude to reject my gift of life. Well, then…no. We have no slaves here. You are free, woman, to do as you please. But, you, Sir, will leave in ashes. And I will send you to them in a box so that they will know that I will come. I will come and break every chain," Harry Wildfyre said and he held out his hand. "FREIA!"

The dragon snarled, crawling forward and Pius watched as the dragon stood just behind Harry Wildfyre. The Order stepped back as the dragon spread its great wings and Harry Wildfyre did not move as he pointed at Pius and hissed, _"Füir_."

And Pius Thicknesse ended as ashes in the wind.

:::

 **A/N:** I just wanted to say, that when writing this chapter, the hardest part was writing that scene of Draco and Lucius. It was definitely the most heartbreaking scene that I've written so far. I'm a big lover of angst but this was a lot for me. It was just really hard because this is a father and son that never really built a relationship and gave a glimpse of how this whole mess could have been avoided if Lucius had stepped up as a father. Anyway, this won't be the end of Lucius struggling with what is inevitably going to happen to his family so, keep on the look out for that.

Anyway, yeah, I like this chapter for all that it's mostly set-up for bigger things to come. Thanks for reading.

HOPE YOU DROP A COMMENT!


	23. Chapter Nineteen

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Nineteen

Andromeda walked briskly from the morning meal, her skirts twisting and tangling between her legs. Her purposeful step echoed through the large stone halls of Hogwarts, followed by the clinking of her ever-present chainmail. For some reason, she was reminded of her childhood. She remembered ghosting through the halls, following after Narcissa as she ran and skipped and laughed.

That laughter had been silenced after Tom had gone away. That laughter had gone away when their father had sat her on the throne for the first time and whispered about how it might be hers one day. It had all gone away when their father had pitted them again each other, turning them into _monsters._ When Tom had become the vindictive, terrible tragedy that he had been born to be.

As she approached her rooms, she paused when she saw that Romilda stood outside of the room.

"Romilda?" she barked.

The doe-eyed girl jumped and stared at her mistress. "I...someone is here to speak with you, Lady Warden," she said. "They asked that the servants leave."

"Voldemort?" Andromeda asked even as she pushed her door open.

She paused when she saw the young man standing by the doors to her balcony. His hair was loose, waving to his shoulders. His golden skin glowed in the sunlight. When he turned to her, Andromeda noticed his new facial hair first.

"Facial hair suits you," Andromeda said, looking at the small touch of hair underneath his bottom lip, his new mustache and the hair that prickled along his chin a threadbare beard.

"Thank you, Lady Warden," Regulus of House Black said.

Andromeda's lips twitched. Regulus was formal at the best of times, even when Andromeda had practically raised the boy. In fact, she _had_ raised the boy, and still, her ward was so stiff. Andromeda walked up to the young man and immediately wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. Regulus only hesitated for half a second but, in that second, Andromeda knew.

Andromeda pulled back, sighing. "You're here about my letter," she said.

"Of course," Regulus said, his voice sharp.

Andromeda turned and pulled her wand. " _Repello Hominem. Muffliato_ ," she cast, watching the room take on a shivering feeling, a light buzz in the back of her mind from the Muffling Charm.

"I've already done all that," Regulus said. "I wasn't properly announced. I just...I just Portkeyed. I don't want this be overheard nor do I want to be seen."

Andromeda paused. Her ward had actually done something without overthinking it. He was upset then.

"Regulus, it wasn't necessary for you to come. I was just getting ready to announce my leave from Hogwarts," Andromeda insisted.

Regulus shook himself, appearing rather frazzled. "That…Lady Warden! You have pledged yourself to a King that you know nothing about?"

"I know enough," Andromeda said, sharply. She watched as Regulus flinched, cowed by her irritation. Andromeda straightened, throwing her shoulders back. "My sisters committed terrible crimes and he will bring justice. He is everything this empire doesn't deserve. He is everything my brother doesn't deserve."

"Anyone that could love your monster of a brother is a _fool_ ," Regulus snarled back, angrily.

"Then, I am a fool!" Andromeda roared. Regulus flinched back, his eyes wide. "My brother is a monster. My brother is a disgusting piece of shit. But, he is still my _brother_. He is my _blood_. And that man can save my _brother_. That man convinced my brother to give me my child back."

Regulus faltered. "Nymphadora?"

Andromeda's lips tilted in a rueful smile. She looked away, unable to swallow the giddiness as she thought of the pink-haired woman.

"Nymphadora lives. He isn't a kinslayer," Andromeda whispered. "And Harry Wildfyre gave me my child back. He convinced _him_ to give my child back."

Regulus couldn't help his own smile. He looked at her, really looked at his cousin. The constant grief that she carried with her was reduced. She had long gotten over her husband's death but, the loss of her child had been dragged behind her for so long that she had aged with the grief. Now, she looked years younger.

But, he had to be her voice of reason.

"But, that means you forgive him?" Regulus demanded. "After he killed your husband? After he destroyed your happiness? After he unlawfully put my brother in the darkest hellhole in the world?"

"No," Andromeda corrected. "I can never...no. But, I didn't promise Afallon to my brother. I gave it to Harry. The Fairest. Oh, Regulus, he _is_ beautiful."

"So, his beauty bewitches you?" Regulus asked, unimpressed.

Andromeda paused, rolling her eyes. Regulus stared back at her, unapologetic in his stance.

"My brother...lets the Fairest call him 'Tom'."

Regulus froze.

"Pardon?" he whispered.

Andromeda smiled. "My brother is in love with him. Harry Wildfyre is all that is kind and good and just. He is the best parts of Lily and James Potter, and my brother _loves_ him. He doesn't realize it but, he does."

"Your brother is broken," Regulus snapped.

"And yet, my brother is in love. If someone like Harry Wildfyre could see the good in my brother, a good that died long ago, then he can do anything," Andromeda whispered and she reached forward, grabbing Regulus' hands in hers, pulling him closer. The young man looked lost as if everything he had ever thought was wrong. "He does the impossible. He has gotten the support of goblins, the centaurs. Alfheim comes to his aide. They come to him. He has a _dragon_. And he needs us."

"A dragon?" Regulus squeaked.

Andromeda nodded. "A dragon. Harry Wildfyre is going to take the throne. He will sit on the Gilded Throne and bring peace. I know it. Trust me, Regulus. Harry Wildfyre will be the good that this empire hasn't seen in _decades_."

Regulus swallowed.

"And my brother?" he whispered.

"He will be _free_. I swear it," Andromeda promised.

And finally, Regulus relented. He nodded, weakly. He took a step away from her, looking out towards the Westeron tents that were slowly being taken down even as they spoke. He paused when he saw the three men that walked through the chaos, cloaks billowing behind them as he walked with a single-minded purpose. Regulus ground his teeth.

Lucius Malfoy.

Severus Snape.

And the _Dark Lord._

"I won't ever forgive him," Regulus promised as he kept his eyes trained on the red-eyed man, a smugness in the way he held himself. "Nor will I forget."

Andromeda looked at him, solemn. "I never thought you would."

Regulus nodded. "Then, Lady Warden, please tell your brother and sister that I am here. I will see to the packing of the camp. And then, we move to Afallon."

Andromeda smirked. "Then, we move to Afallon."

 **MIRROR**

"We can't possibly reach Westeron unnoticed?" Ginny asked as she walked with through the camp with her brothers. Percy was muttering to himself, looking over his parchment and nodding. Ginny was vaguely impressed.

Percy knew everyone at camp, due to his amazing memory. He was doing an admirable job of keeping everything organized. Everyone had been set a task, and under Percy's watch, it would only take a fortnight to finish packing and to begin the journey to Westeron.

"We can and we will," Percy muttered.

Ron snorted. "He's right, as _always_. Madame McGonagall thinks that able-bodied Muggles and magical users will travel in large groups of forty to fifty, some by way of the Forest, others in boats at the port cities in the South. Children and caretakers will be made Portkeys."

"Why can't we Portkey everyone?" Ginny asked, curiously. She waved at Petunia, who was busy folding fresh laundry. The woman nodded and turned back to her large son, muttering quietly at him as he took the fresh laundry and lumbered away with it towards a pack of boys that were pressing folded linens into baskets and handwoven bags.

"That much magical upheaval will definitely alert the Usurper and his forces. They'll know. It's best to travel in the night, in separate groups. Have you been assigned your group yet?" Percy asked and Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean? Group?"

Percy looked up from his list and sighed, staring at her with annoyance. Ginny rolled her eyes and waved her hands, pressing her older brother to go on. Exasperated, he sighed, dramatically and rolled up his scroll, tucking it beneath his arm. Ginny couldn't help but notice the blots of ink staining the back of his hands, alongside the millions of freckles.

"The King has put forth the idea that an Order member of two should escort a group. There are nearly 1500 of us. Excluding fighters, there are 1200 or so civilians. Take away the elderly and the children, that's 1000 people to escort that can't exactly defend themselves like soldiers could. About 20 groups to escort. We will each take command of a group of civilians, dividing the fighting amongst ourselves as our own squads. It's rather genius," Percy said, sounding admiring.

Ginny nodded. It was a good plan. It was funny to see her older brother attracted to the King though unsurprising it was. Every man and woman was attracted to Harry. He was beautiful and kind and talented and _good_.

"It's a good plan. It means McGonagall trusts us if he's already told you," Ron said, puffing out his chest somewhat. Ginny rolled her eyes but, didn't disagree with him. McGonagall would only agree with it if she trusted the plan to work.

It was dangerous, still, moving such a large camp but, Afallon was the safest place for them. Behind the ancient wards of Westeron, protected by _three_ Slytherins—Tonks, Andromeda, and the Dark Lord—the camp would stand. The civilians would be protected and there was more space there to grow. The Alfheimeans would meet them there, and Andromeda's army of 1000 would come to them. Hopefully, the major Houses of the West—House Smith, House Cadwallader, and House Rickett—would follow after. Another 200 soldiers each Muggle and magical alike.

Perhaps, the Dark Lord _was_ proving useful.

"Where do you think the King is?" Percy asked, curiously, color high in his cheeks.

"Harry?" Ron asked.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. Perhaps, Percy's fascination was more than an attraction. He had a _crush_ on him.

"Yes. I was speaking with Charlie and Hagrid, about the logistics of transporting Freia. It would be most prudent for her to fly but, that would ruin the element of surprise, I expect. I wanted to consult him," Percy said, puffing himself up, all self-important.

Ginny grinned as they walked along the edges, around the paddock. Freia was lying lazily against the great fence that really did nothing to keep her in. If she wanted to, she could take off, though she was a well-behaved dragon. Hedwig wasn't there for once, so that meant Harry must have her tucked close.

Ginny led her two brothers farther down, towards the edges of the forest.

"He's a good king, isn't he?" Ron said, almost ruefully.

"Yes. I think he is," Ginny said, softly, remembering what he had done at Godric's Hollow. She sighed, shaking her head. "He's reckless and wild and quick to temper but, he's good. Good in a way that I haven't seen in my life."

It was hard, sometimes, to remember that she had lived less than two decades. She felt so very old sometimes.

"Do you think he'll stay good, on the throne?" Ron asked.

Percy nodded, emphatically. "As long as he keeps good advisors."

"And the Dark Lord? Do you think he makes a good advisor?" Ginny challenged, darkly. She still questioned _that_ decision.

Percy deflated. "I...well...the Dark Lord knows the law. But, I've been studying. I think that…"

Percy trailed off and Ginny followed the direction of his gaze.

Hedwig was bowling over herself, running back and forth, weaving around the tree trunks. She never strayed far from her master. Harry's back was pressed against a tree trunk, his head tilted back lazily as the Dark Lord crowded against him, running his fingers over the length of his neck, drinking him in like a man dying of thirst. Harry barely twitched at the man's fingers, as if he were used to Voldemort touching him.

"Someone's going to come," Voldemort hissed, softly.

Harry hummed. "Why would they? I could be anywhere else in the camp."

"You _should_ be anywhere else. You want your foolish plan to work, yes? They will be waiting for you. We must prepare," Voldemort murmured as he pressed his forehead against the bark of the tree that Harry leaned against.

"Merlin, shut _up_. I need silence. For _once._ Just be _quiet_ ," Harry snapped, irritated.

Voldemort chuckled softly. " _Inwi nwaly ten'ke."_

Harry's breath caught and he cleared his throat. Harry lifted his hand, burying his fingers in Voldemort's hair, grabbing tight at the root and tugging lightly so that Voldemort looked him in the eye.

"If you ever pull a stunt like that in front of Andromeda…in front of anyone…if you _ever_ use me as a pawn again, I'll kill you."

The conviction in Harry's soft voice made Voldemort's eyes widen. Voldemort tipped Harry's head up, running his thumb over Harry's bottom lip, dragging it down. Harry stared at him, barely reacting as Voldemort released him, letting his lip snap back into place.

"Understood," Voldemort drawled.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You're a right bastard, do you know that?" he whispered.

"So I've been told."

And then Voldemort's hands skirted up Harry's sides, settling on his waist and dragged him closer. A short breath escaped Harry as they were pressed together, staring at each other in silence. Harry shivered and he let his head fall forward, pressing his forehead against Voldemort's clavicle.

"What are you doing to me?" Harry whispered. "I can't trust you. I can't _trust_ you."

Voldemort said nothing, only settling his chin on top of Harry's head. And then he turned his warbright eyes onto the hidden Weasley children, narrowing them in irritation. Ginny took a step back, grabbing at Percy and Ron's wrists and tugging him away. She thanked all of the gods in the world that Ron had decided at _that_ moment to show the tact that he hadn't been blessed with at birth.

As they stumbled away from the private moment, Percy came back to life.

"That was… we should tell McGonagall," Percy said, his voice frantic and cracking.

"Tell her what?" Ginny asked, her voice stony.

Ron glared at his sister. "You saw that. Harry said that he doesn't trust him. If Harry doesn't trust Voldemort, then we should tell McGonagall."

"That's not why we should tell her," Ginny scoffed. "And that wasn't what Harry was talking about. He trusts Voldemort with the war."

"What else could he be talking about?" Ron demanded.

"Harry doesn't trust Voldemort with himself. Harry's in love with him. And if you two think McGonagall doesn't know, you're an idiot."

Percy swallowed, shaking his head. "I have...I have so much work to do," he said, excusing himself.

Ginny and Ron watched their brother stumble away.

And, for once, Ron had nothing to say at all.

 **MIRROR**

The door slammed open. Andromeda looked up, lazily from her trunks, her eyes zeroing in on the young woman in the doorway. Hermione Granger was breathing hard, her wand clutched against her chest as she tried to catch her breath. The Lady's shadow, the little blonde slip of a girl that Rodolphus was fucking, was staring between Andromeda and the two servants that were on the floor, properly Stunned.

"You Stunned my servants," Andromeda said. She waved her wand, watching as the rest of her dresses neatly folded themselves and flew into the trunk. The trunk slammed shut with a resounding slam.

"They wouldn't...they wouldn't let me in," Hermione gasped. Her shadow turned, shutting the doors behind them and took her place at Hermione's shoulder. "You're _leaving_."

She said it like a curse, a condemnation. Andromeda gave her a soft smile and slowly walked towards her. Hermione winced as Andromeda took her hands.

"It is time for me to go," Andromeda said gently. Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Andromeda shook her head. "There is work to be done."

"Work to be done? Of course, there is! But, it's to be done here. You can't...you can't _leave_ me," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling and cracking. Andromeda lifted her chin.

"Do not weep, Hermione Granger. You have the will of thousands and a spine of steel. You will stay unbowed, unbent, unbroken. You will live on," Andromeda said, firmly. "You will survive."

"I can't do this by myself. You won't...none of you will _help_ me. Narcissa killed her sister. Draco doesn't beat me only because he is afraid of his uncle. Daphne Greengrass wishes to replace me. I am alone in a foreign land and none of you will _help_ me!" Hermione said, nearly screaming, spittle flying from her mouth.

Andromeda's eyes narrowed. Hermione suddenly pulled away, as if realizing that the woman before her was no ordinary woman. Andromeda was Warden of the West. Andromeda was a _Slytherin_. And Andromeda could taste her fear and her grief and all that madness that stirred inside of her.

"I will always help you. I told you that something would be done. And it will be. _Accio_ mirror," Andromeda said. The handheld mirror that she used to communicate with Regulus flew into her hand.

It was old tarnished silver. On the back was a carved rose. It had been Andromeda's mother's mirror. Andromeda placed it in Hermione's hands.

"What is this?" Hermione whispered.

"A two-way mirror. I have the other one in Westeron. You may always call me when you are afraid. And you _are_ afraid," Andromeda whispered when Hermione lifted her head to protest. Hermione curled inwards and looked down at the mirror.

"They'll kill me," Hermione whispered.

Andromeda shook her head. "Never. Someone made a promise to save you."

Hermione faltered. "Who?"

"He is coming," said the shadow.

Andromeda and Hermione turned towards the slight little blonde.

"Who's coming?" Hermione demanded.

"Wyrdfod. The Wyrdfod is coming. And fire will set you free," Luna promised.

And then, Andromeda knew.

"Who is the Wyrdfod?" Hermione snapped. "You said...you said it was just a _prophecy_."

"And as Master Crouch said, prophecies have _power_ ," Luna murmured. "The Wyrdfod is the Chosen One. The Prince of Gryffindor. The _Fairest_ of Them All."

And Hermione looked at Andromeda in horror. "The Dark Lord will kill you for betraying him. For allying with a boy that has only a band of bandits at his side and no _idea_ of what Draco is capable of."

Andromeda wanted to laugh.

This girl knew nothing. This girl had no idea about the power that Harry Wildfyre possessed. She had no idea about his dragon or his lioness or the fire that he called as easy as breathing. She had no idea about the force of his beauty or his will. She had no idea about the hold that he had over her brother. Her hopelessly in love brother.

Instead, Andromeda gave a grim smile as she shrunk her trunk and tucked it close in one of her inner pockets. She was dressed to ride West. She would ride across the Western Bridge before Apparating straight to Westeron to help oversee the great move.

Now, the room was bare. Her room, that she had had when she was a child, looked untouched and unlived in, just as it had been when she was a girl. She didn't feel sorrow. After all, Hogwarts hadn't been Andromeda's home in such a long time.

She looked at Hermione who looked as if she were holding herself together with silks and glue. Andromeda sighed.

"My dear, I will take that chance."

 **ON**

Narcissa didn't spare them a glance. They pushed the doors open for her, allowing her into the Great Hall. She looked around, a single sculpted eyebrow raised in observation.

The room was busy, for court not being in session. The servants bustled around, carefully polishing and replacing the stained glass windows behind the Gilded Throne. The white running carpet was bright white, the old rust-colored stains gone. Narcissa wondered if the carpet had been replaced or simply cleaned. Draco stood before the dais of the Gilded Throne, his hands clasped behind his back as he observed.

"What's this about?" Narcissa called.

Draco turned on his heel. He smiled at his mother. It was nearly the boyish smile that Narcissa was so used to, if it weren't for the grimness in his eyes.

"Returning the Great Hall to its true glory. This is the hall of a conqueror. It should be matched. The runner was a thing of Aunt Bellatrix's reign. We shall have it washed anew," Draco said firmly as he strode forward, gesturing as the servants placed the fractured green windows, all depicting the Slytherin crest.

The room was decorated in hanging green banners, the banners of her father. Narcissa wasn't sure whether to be elated or dismayed. There was no love lost between her and her father. She had been an active and willing participant in the Hogwarts Massacre.

"I see. Your uncle will not be happy with the replacement of that carpet," Narcissa murmured.

Voldemort liked his trophies and the carpet that had held the stains of Godric Gryffindor had certainly been a representation of his highest achievement. The murder of two Founders.

"Uncle is never pleased. I will no longer concern myself with such things. All that matters is the continuation of my reign. No matter _what_ ," Draco said, his voice hard. He glanced at his mother, as if pondering something. "Are the coffers still full?"

Narcissa hesitated. "We have lost men, Draco. Their families are owed salaries for five years. The coffers aren't _empty_ , per say."

"Why must we give them salaries? More Muggles were lost than true wizarding families," Draco snapped, irritated and Narcissa's eyes narrowed on her son.

"Perhaps. But, Gregory Goyle's death has lost us a few thousand galleons in recompense. A family lost their heir, Draco," Narcissa retorted.

Draco's face hardened at the mention of his deceased friend.

"They are young yet. They may fuck and have more."

Narcissa's lips twisted at her son's crassness but, she could see the irritation in the way he moved, his eyes flickering back and forth through the Great Hall. It would not due for him to kill a house elf.

"Your aunt has left," she said instead.

"Good riddance. Aunt Andromeda is a bore," Draco snarled.

Narcissa sniffed. "Andromeda is the Warden of the West. I wish you would endear yourself to her. To ensure her loyalty."

"What other reason must she have to be loyal besides my rule as king and the blood we share? The throne is mine," Draco demanded angrily.

Narcissa resisted the urge to smile. Her boy had had to grow up so fast and yet, still, he thought like a child. Blood was not the bond that he thought it was. Blood did not fasten loyalty or promise aide. Only power did so, and Andromeda, though only the Warden, was a Slytherin.

"Of course it is," Narcissa said, placatingly. She stepped forward, stroking her son's cheek, softly. "But, I only warn you. Blood is not everything, my love. Love is not everything."

Draco's eyes narrowed with cruelty.

"I'm sure. Father's an example of that, isn't he?" Draco began.

Narcissa paused. "How do you mean?"

"I mean that you and Father only had me. Did he fuck other women when he got tired of you? Did you do something to make him go away? Were you so dried up—"

And Narcissa lifted her wand and hissed, " _Crucio_."

Draco let out a sharp cry and fell to his knees. The entire room went silent and Narcissa lifted the curse as fast as she had cast it. She twitched, caught between horror and awe, satisfaction and terror. Had she always been capable of that? So quick to anger? Perhaps, not. She took a deep breath, centering herself. She was ice.

Instead, she looked down at her son as he twitched, the aftershocks of agony making his legs quiver and his arms tremble. Draco stared at her like he had never seen her before and Narcissa sighed. She would make amends.

"Draco, my love, I apolo—"

"What you did is punishable by death," Draco threatened. "You will never do it again. Never."

Narcissa's bottom lip curled. She took a step forward and Draco faltered as his mother drew herself to her full height. He was much taller than her but, still, she seemed to take up so much space.

"You think you can kill me, my sweet boy?" Narcissa rasped. "I am Narcissa Godkiller. I _put_ you on that throne and I can take you off. Do you understand?"

Draco looked at her as if he was seeing her the first time. He took a step back and nodded, looking down at the ground. Pink burned high in his cheeks, and he twitched with his humiliation. He looked up again and Narcissa's gaze had not wavered. Not even for a second.

She expected an answer.

"Yes, Mother. I understand."

 **THE**

Gabrielle smoothed down her hair, playing with the ends of her braid as she sat in front of the hearth. Her body was stinging, her arms covered in fresh black and purple bruises and aging yellow and green spots. Deyanira was a cruel teacher but, her methods were proving effective. It had been over a month since Deyanira had begun her training Gabrielle, and Gabrielle already felt stronger. Fenrir insisted it was because she was a quick learner.

Gabrielle agreed readily; she would hate to admit that it was all because Deyanira was truly a talented teacher.

Gabrielle grabbed a pinch of Floo dust from the small pot next to her and threw it into the flames. The flames sparked green and Gabrielle's lips curled into a small smile when a head appeared in the flames, shiny blonde hair spilling forth.

"Fleur," Gabrielle murmured.

"Oh, Gabrielle," Fleur nearly sobbed and she jerked as if she wanted to reach forward and wrap Gabrielle in a tight hug. "Can I come through?"

Gabrielle hesitated. "Fenrir's protection charms don't allow anyone coming through. And he doesn't like unannounced guests."

Fleur looked too exhausted to be properly put out. She only nodded.

"How have you been?" Fleur said in a rush.

Gabrielle's lips pulled into a small smile. "Married life agrees with me. This life agrees with me."

"You're glowing," Fleur commented, as if she hated to admit it. It just made Gabrielle's lips pull into an even wider smile. She knew that Fleur wasn't only talking about her happiness. Gabrielle was turning sixteen soon.

Her pale hair glowed even in the daylight now.

"Thanks," Gabrielle murmured. "Fenrir says that he doesn't even notice the difference. He is kind to me, Fleur, just as I thought he would be. I think...perhaps, that, I love him."

And Gabrielle _did_ love Fenrir, and she imagined that he loved her too. He was kind and worldly. He never snapped at her or struck out at her. He trusted her with the run of the whole house even when he was away on his day trips for business. And he never left her alone for too long. The house was too big to be alone.

"I admit that I'm relieved to hear you say that. I never wanted you to marry for protection, Gabrielle. Only for love. As our parents did," Fleur said, softly and Gabrielle's gaze softened and she nodded.

"I know, Fleur. I know all you wanted was to protect me. But, you can't shelter me anymore. I'm no longer a child. I can protect myself," Gabrielle insisted.

Fleur sighed. "But, I worry, Gabrielle."

"I know," Gabrielle murmured.

Fleur hummed, looking over Gabrielle as if searching for injuries. Gabrielle shifted, grunting quietly as the movement pulled at her aches and pains. Fleur gasped as she caught sight of the bruises that lined Gabrielle's arms. Gabrielle pulled her cloaked tighter around her body.

"You said that he was kind to you!" Fleur shrieked in horror.

"He is," Gabrielle snapped, angrily. Fleur shifted restlessly, scattering ashes and flaming coals and pieces of wood as she tried to push through Fenrir's carefully placed wards. "Calm _down,_ Fleur. They're not even from him. I've been...he's found someone to train me."

Fleur stilled.

"How do you mean...train you?"

"He says that he cannot even think of striking me, so he has brought in his second-in-command to teach me to fight with a sword and a staff. We will move onto magic soon, I suspect. I told you that he would teach me how to protect myself," Gabrielle said, haughty and annoyed but, she relaxed as Fleur seemed to settle, pulling back her own personal ire.

Fleur looked hesitant.

"Are you _sure_?" Fleur asked.

"I'm sure."

Fleur watched her with the uncomfortably shrewd eyes of a mother. And then she relaxed.

"Now, tell me. What does your husband feed you in the mornings? You look so good."

 **WALL**

Hermione knelt by the flowers, aching to bury her face in the bright red poppies. They were beautiful, more vibrant than any other flowers that Hermione had ever seen in her short life. She plucked one from the dirt, roots and all pressed a kiss to it. Neville had said that she could take any that she liked. Hermione would repot this one in her room. A small spot of beauty in a world so grey and terrible.

Someone cleared their throat gently.

Hermione leaped up, her skirts swirling around her legs as she watched Daphne Greengrass. Daphne brushed forward, her green skirts brushing across her bare feet. Her skirts were green like the ocean. It suited her well.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Daphne said with a small smile.

"You haven't," Hermione said, smoothing her skirts and holding the poppy to her chest. Daphne tilted her head, a curious look on her face.

"You roam quite free, don't you?" Daphne asked, softly.

Hermione hummed. "I have been told that I'm not a prisoner. That remains to be seen," Hermione drawled and Daphne's lips pulled into a wide smile as she giggled.

Daphne leaped forward, looping an arm through Hermione's and tugged her forward. Hermione fell into step with her, tilting her head down towards the woman. Daphne was a petite woman, much shorter than Hermione, and beautiful. Hermione repressed her sneer.

"You look lovely today," Daphne murmured. "You are so stunning. No wonder the King wishes you to be his bride."

"I've no idea why the King has chosen me. Frankly, I think he should've taken an Albion woman as his bride," Hermione said loftily. She wasn't lying then. She thought that it would make the most sense for him to marry someone from an Albion House.

Instead, he was set on marrying _her._ A Muggleborn woman from the Laug Republic, who was disobedient and too tall and a know-it-all. He would _hate_ her. Hermione had no doubt that only Blaise's whispers into Draco's ear kept her as his betrothed. Hermione did not miss Draco's wandering eye. She never thought she would thank her selfish stepbrother for anything but, in that, she was grateful.

Anything to stop the fast approaching disposal.

"But, you are _beautiful_ ," Daphne insisted.

Hermione scoffed. "I have seen more beautiful women, Lady Greengrass."

"My sister, Astoria, was the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," Daphne said as they walked around the greenhouse, strangely alone for a greenhouse that was usually bustling with people.

Hermione wondered if that was Daphne's doing.

"More beautiful than you? Surely not," Hermione said, as pleasant as possible.

Daphne snorted. "Aye, more beautiful than me. She was a warrior, long and strong. She's younger than me, and still, even while I was bones and spindly arms, she was strong and beautiful. Like a drowned goddess sent to torture me."

"A drowned goddess? What an odd turn of phrase," Hermione said, pointedly.

Daphne didn't even seem to notice, shrugging it off as one of her many eccentricities. Hermione cataloged it. If Daphne wanted to underestimate her, fine. But, Hermione would not make the same mistake. She tightened herself to Daphne's side.

"I prayed that she'd catch a horrible skin disease. A week later she caught Velvet Disease," Daphne sighed and Hermione frowned.

"Velvet Disease? I've never heard of such a thing," Hermione said. She hated admitting such a thing and she wished Luna had been there to inform her of something like that.

"Oh, do you not have that in the Republic? It's a skin disease that gives the infected dusty gold scales and a terrible fever that finds itself in the blood. Of course, she healed. The scales remained and she is even more beautiful for it," Daphne sighed, shaking her head.

She didn't sound particularly angry. Her lips were curled into a small smile. Hermione frowned and leaned forward, curiously.

"Why was your sister not fostered along with you?" Hermione asked, softly.

Daphne sighed, shaking her head. "My father would never let her go and she didn't want to leave. I did."

"Where _are_ you from?" Hermione asked, more bite in her voice this time and Daphne shook her head, pulling away to bury her face in a bouquet of peonies. She pulled away and laughed at Hermione's raised eyebrow.

"You must come to Essetir. Do you like the gardens?" Daphne asked.

"Aye, I do."

"Then, you must come visit me at Arcadia. It is wonderful. A saltwater river runs underneath the castle and it is lovely to bathe in, and some of the plants prefer such an environment. The gardens are vast and far and wonderful," Daphne babbled as she turned to look at Hermione with excitement. "Neville and my grandmother would love to host you."

"And the King? You would host the King?" Hermione asked, coldly.

Daphne's brow furrowed. "What?"

"I am to be married to the King. I will be Queen. Your Queen," Hermione said, sharply and if her accent was more pronounced in her cold irritation, so be it. She would be the foreign bitch Queen that Draco insisted that she be.

"You don't like the King. If you don't want to stay, Hermione, we could protect—" Daphne began.

"Protect me?" Hermione laughed. "From what? What more protection could there be than in being 'Queen'? I will stay here, Daphne Greengrass, no matter that you want me gone."

"I don't want you gone!" Daphne protested. There was a panicked edge to her voice that she controlled nearly immediately.

But, Hermione had seen her slip. Daphne was telling some truth but, not all of it. She was gathering herself again and Hermione shook herself. Hermione was a common Muggleborn, it was true. But, she was a fast learner and she had learned the intrigues of court as soon as she had pulled herself together.

"You will not steal my spot in court. I do not like the King but, I have the Dark Lord's protection against him. I do not _need_ you. You will stay away from me, Daphne Greengrass, and the King or I will tell him that you're up to something," Hermione said, taking a step forward, her eyes narrowed as she looked over Daphne.

"I'm loyal to King Draco!"

"No. You're not," Hermione said, flatly. Before Daphne could breathe another word in protest, Hermione drew her wand and had it pressed against the line of Daphne's jaw. "I have been beaten and abused. Destroyed. But, I _will_ survive to see my vengeance. Through _any_ means necessary. _Don't_ get in my way."

 **WHO**

Harry sat amongst his council, looking each of them in the eye. They waited for his answer. It sent a thrill of satisfaction through Harry—the fact that they waited for him. It all depended on him. Harry didn't even turn to look at Voldemort for approval. He could feel the man's war-bright eyes trained on his face.

"I will buy the creatures from them," Harry declared.

McGonagall tilted her head, considering. "How do you mean?"

"And with what money? We don't have a loan yet," Bill reminded him and Harry snorted, gesturing blankly to the trunk of gold that sat in the corner of the room, purposefully ignored.

No one wanted to be reminded of Harry's ruthless dealings with Pius Thicknesse. The way his skin had bubble and curled away from muscle, blackening into ash. Some had looked away. Harry had never flinched. He didn't regret Pius' execution. He didn't regret it at all and he never would.

"It seems that I've been given a gift. I want to buy the creatures from them," Harry said firmly.

He watched his council lurch. McGonagall exchanged a quick glance with Tonks and Bill. Bill leaned forward, nervously tapping his fingers against the edge of the long table.

"We need that money. It'll support us on the road to Westeron and afterward. We need it to buy iron, steel, cloth—" Bill stammered, listing off their needs.

"And we will have it," Harry said, serenely.

Voldemort hummed. "Your Grace, this seems unwise," Voldemort said, pointedly.

Harry grinned. "Perhaps. But, if we free the creatures, they will be loyal. It will add a great amount to our numbers and encourage further support amongst the common people. Godric's Hollow was only the first step. They will whisper my name—Harry Wildfyre."

"The Boy-Who-Lived," Voldemort said, mockingly. Harry snorted, rolling his eyes.

"The Man-Who-Survived," Harry corrected. He looked around the table, eyeing their skepticism and paying no mind to it. "They know that I will come. So, I must come. I will break their chains of bondage. We have _no slaves_ in the empire."

He said it, without any room for argument, narrowing his eyes at the Lord of House Slytherin. Voldemort leaned back in his chair. His face didn't twitch and Harry knew that he had won. He turned towards the rest of his council and nodded once.

"Then, when will you buy them, your Grace? How will we survive without coin?" Ginny asked, carefully. She looked relaxed, as if she trusted Harry to have an answer.

"You won't need to. I plan to go after you leave. We will divide 5000 galleons equally amongst us, and then, I will take the other half. Then, I will go to Crowmere Camp and buy the creatures."

"You plan? Alone, is that right?" Tonks challenged.

Harry raised an eyebrow, amused. "I'm assuming you have a problem with that."

"Respectfully, you're damn right," Tonks said.

"Tonks is correct. Your Grace, you can't go alone. It isn't safe," Kingsley insisted.

"Fine. You will go with me, Kingsley. And you too, Tonks. And you...Lord Voldemort," Harry drawled, leaning forward, pressing his cheek into his palm. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Voldemort to challenge him.

"Is that wise?" Bill asked, slowly, exchanging a glance with Ginny that Harry couldn't discern.

"If it is his Grace's will," Voldemort said, shortly, never looking away from Harry.

"It is," Harry said. He turned towards the rest of the council. "Ginny, I entrust you and your brother, Charlie, with Hedwig. Keep her safe or I'll kill you."

"I'll protect her with my life," Ginny promised with a small smile.

Harry nodded. "And Freia will come with me."

There was a long moment of tense silence.

"Your Grace—"

"It isn't a discussion," Harry snapped, silencing Bill immediately. Bill nodded once and leaned back in his chair. Harry took a deep breath. "We have nothing more to discuss. Meeting adjourned."

The Council stood immediately, all except for Voldemort. Usually, Harry and Voldemort would speak softly in the ancient language afterward. But, this time, Harry stood too. Voldemort tilted his head, curious but, didn't object. Harry held out his hand to Ginny, beckoning her forward.

"Bring me to Fred and George," Harry requested.

Ginny nodded, looping her arm through Harry's. Tonks took to his other side and Harry left the room without a glance back. Voldemort would wait for him. Somehow, Harry felt like Voldemort always knew what he was going to do, even if Harry wasn't sure. Harry hummed as Ginny led the small trio down the steps, and out of the Burrow II.

Harry smiled as they passed some of the refugees, still packing and organizing themselves to begin the trips to Afallon. The children and elderly were scheduled to Portkey to Afallon at daybreak. Lavender Brown wasn't a member of the Order but, she would be in charge of that along with Percy who would arrive first as Harry's steward.

"They're entertaining the kids. Giving them some product. Do you know about their joke products?" Ginny asked.

Harry grimaced. He was _well_ aware of them.

"They got me with a Puking Pastille," Harry sighed. "But, Madame McGonagall caught them in the act and they were sent to scrub bedpans for a few hours. I vomited all over the Dark Lord."

Ginny snorted.

Harry flushed in humiliation, remembering the bile that stained Voldemort's robes. The Dark Lord had been unamused.

"That's attractive," Tonks drawled.

Harry's face stained darker. "Fuck you, Tonks."

"You care about being attractive to my Uncle?" Tonks taunted and she laughed when Harry ducked his head and moved to walk faster than the pair of them. Tonks tightened her arm in Harry's. "Come now, Harry. I'm only teasing."

"Of course he cares," Ginny snorted.

Harry sighed, shaking his head but did nothing to refute their words. Ginny and Tonks exchanged looks and laughed at his expense.

"We're looking for Fred and George, remember," Harry snapped as he tugged them along to the sound of children's laughter.

Ginny nodded at the Dursleys as they walked past but, Harry did nothing to acknowledge Dudley. He only paused slightly when he saw Petunia before he continued on. Ginny's brow furrowed but she didn't question his reaction. They entered the small play area, constructed so that the children wouldn't be underfoot while packing was completed.

Fred and George were in the middle of them all, laughing as the children clambered all over them. The twins were a stocky sort so children were hanging from every limb, attempting to climb them like trees, and they seemed to revel in it.

"Who wants another Dungbomb?" Fred shouted.

"No one!" Ginny called, already covering her nose.

Fred and George had identical smiles and they peeled themselves away from the children, swaggering over. Fred looped one arm through Tonks' and George threw his arm over Ginny's shoulder, hugging her tight to his side.

"Look who it is, Forge. Ickle little Gin-Gin," Fred snickered.

"And Tonks and Harry-kins. Look at 'em all here, Gred," George teased. Ginny rolled her eyes and shoved playfully at George.

"No. Harry wanted to speak to you," Ginny laughed. "No more pranks."

"Ah, Harrykins?" Fred said, sidling up to Harry's side.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I need to speak with you about your prank products."

"Ooooh, are we in trouble?" George asked, unable to help the laughter in his eyes. Harry hoped that that laughter never died.

Harry tilted his head. "No. I've just noticed your talent and I thought...well. I just have a question. Do you make other kinds of products?" Harry asked.

Fred and George exchanged looks and though there was still humor in their face, they took on an air of seriousness.

"How do you mean, Harry? What kind of products?" Fred asked.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Products of war."

 **IS**

"My impressive Miss Gabrielle," Fenrir said, breathing hard as he looked at his little wife. Gabrielle grinned back at him, breathing just as hard as she leaned on her wooden sword to keep her balance.

"Oh, Fenrir," Gabrielle sighed with a tiny shake of her head.

"No, my love, you're incomparable, I swear it," Fenrir teased.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "You've been going easy on me."

"Aye, perhaps. But, you're bloody fast, Gabrielle. Bloody fast, indeed," Fenrir sighed. He fell into his seat and drained his goblet of water in a second. Gabrielle followed after him, doing the same.

She pulled her wand and sighed, grabbing her wand from the table. " _Aguamenti._ "

The two goblets were filled with water again and two greedily drank them dry. Gabrielle brushed the silvery blonde hairs from her face. She glanced at her reflection in the ballroom window. With every passing day, she resembled her sister and their mother more and more. Her sixteenth birthday was fast approaching, and Gabrielle had never been _less_ worried.

"I can't train you anymore," Fenrir sighed.

Gabrielle squawked, turning to look at him with outrage. "What do you mean? Fenrir, you promised!"

"I know, I know," Fenrir said, raising his hands in surrender. "But, sweet girl...I can't hurt you."

And if that didn't melt Gabrielle's heart, it was the words 'sweet girl'. He had never called her something like that. Gabrielle's irritation turned to affection and she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He returned it, cupping her face in his big hands rubbing his thumbs against her cheeks. When they pulled apart, Gabrielle's heart was racing twice as hard as before.

"What will I do then? How will I defend myself?" Gabrielle said.

"Your magic, for one," Fenrir reminded her. He opened his mouth to continue.

"I've no formal dueling education!" she protested.

Fenrir gave her a pointed look. "Well, if you hadn't interrupted, I would've told you that I've asked a friend of mine to come and teach you. Deyanira Argentum."

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed.

"Who is she?" she barked, unable to help the uneasiness that turned her stomach.

And the doors to the ballroom crashed open with an air of drama that could only have been planned. Gabrielle turned on her heel and she looked at the woman. And this _must_ be Deyanira Argentum. She looked like the type of woman that would be friends with Fenrir.

The woman slunk into the room, her eyes trained only on Fenrir. She approached and fell in a low bow. She dragged a long wooden staff behind her, like a weight.

"Alpha," she drawled.

"Deyanira," Fenrir said, a tinge of warning in his voice.

Gabrielle's lip curled back. "What kind of 'cute' nickname is that? Alpha," Gabrielle said, snippily.

Fenrir's amber eyes flashed with something akin to arousal as he looked at his little wife.

"She is my second-in-command more than my friend, sweet girl. My position in the government keeps me incredibly busy and I own...land through the Republic. She is very much like a steward," Fenrir said and Deyanira Argentum nodded.

"This is the little wife, then. You want me to train her, Alpha?" Deyanira asked.

Still, she hadn't looked at Gabrielle.

"You can speak to me," Gabrielle snapped.

Deyanira ignored her. Instead, she looked over at her 'Alpha'. Gabrielle rolled her eyes so hard, she was afraid she might go blind. Instead, she pulled out her sword and stood, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Train her like I trained you," Fenrir instructed.

Deyanira nodded and finally turned towards Gabrielle. Her eyes roved over her, disdain twisting her lips. She crooked a single finger at the young Lady Greyback and led her to the center of the ballroom.

Deyanira was a wild woman. Wild in the same way that Fenrir was wild. Her hair was tamed, tied back in a long braid but, her nails were long and jagged and her teeth stained yellow. She walked with a strange sort of grace, keeping her staff tight in her hand. She paced in front of Gabrielle, keeping dark eyes on her at all times. Gabrielle glanced at Fenrir but, Fenrir shook his head, staying tucked in the corner.

"Who are you?" Deyanira asked.

"What?" Gabrielle drawled. She glanced at Fenrir but, Fenrir looked away.

"You. Who walks this chateau as if it was her own, who doesn't respect Fenrir Greyback. Who are you?" Deyanira asked.

Gabrielle huffed. "His _wife_."

"Wrong," Deyanira barked and then she lashed out, her staff smacking Gabrielle in the back of her knee. Gabrielle cried out, falling to the ground immediately as the agony radiated up her thigh and along her thigh.

Gabrielle just caught herself, one hand supporting her body and the other grabbing at the throbbing muscle.

" _Fuck_ ," Gabrielle snarled. "What was that?"

And for the first time, Deyanira looked vaguely interested. Loftily, she turned her back on Gabrielle, judging her a non-threat. She glanced over at Fenrir, humming.

"Why does she not know?" Deyanira asked.

"She isn't one of us. Not yet," Fenrir responded and Gabrielle was too twisted in irritation to truly question that.

Instead, she launched herself forward, throwing her wooden staff down between Deyanira's shoulder blades. But, suddenly, Deyanira twisted from in front of her and struck again, slamming her staff into Gabrielle's side. Gabrielle's hold on her blade stuttered and it clattered to the ground heavily. She crashed after it, rolling once. She swallowed her agony this time, breathing in heavy hisses as she felt the pain that would inevitably become a bruise.

"Who are you?" Deyanira asked again.

"Gabrielle Greyback!" Gabrielle snapped back.

Deyanira scoffed and threw her staff down. Gabrielle rolled out of the way and tried to jump up. She was knocked back with a fist to her nose. She felt it crack and let out a terrible cry as blood poured from her nostrils. She tasted the bronze of Knuts on her tongue.

"A girl has no name. Who are you?" Deyanira asked.

"I…" And Gabrielle hesitated this time, clutching her bloody broken nose. She swallowed hard. "I have no name. I'm no one."

Deyanira's lips curled into a nasty smile. " _Liar._ "

And then, she attacked.

 **FAIREST**

She was waiting by the gate when he approached, on horseback. Tall and fair and so reminiscent of childhood that once, Voldemort's heart would have ached. He no longer had a heart and she was not the little girl that had been destined to rule Albion. She was not the precious little girl that he had taught how to play chess or how to fire a crossbow.

In that moment, Voldemort _hated_.

"You always leave, brother," Narcissa said, her hair long and free down her back.

She had not worn her hair down in such a way for many years. It was always piled upon her head, like a court lady. Narcissa of old had been a chameleon. He had seen her dressed like a lady, with hair twirled around her head, and he had seen her in armor with a warrior's braid. Always, she had worn her cosmetics to whichever war she fought in.

She was barefaced now.

"I have always left, Narcissa," Voldemort said, his voice cold. "I won't be returning for some time."

"Where are you going? We are at _war_. You can't just leave," Narcissa protested, and her voice cracked, like ice thawing as spring began to dawn.

He had been the one to make her into ice.

 _Make your heart cold as ice, my love, and one day, you shall sit on the throne made of bones and the blood of your friend. From porcelain to ivory to steel to diamond, my love._

"I have always left," Voldemort repeated, his voice hard and full of meaning.

She had always seen the back of him. She hadn't been old enough, the first time that he had been sent on with a sword and an order but, she remembered weeping. Narcissa had always cried. Until she had no more tears.

 _My strong girl._

Narcissa had wept after Helena had died. When she laid the porcelain doll to rest, she had wept no more.

"And you let Bella go with you!" Narcissa protested.

"Bella was my twin. Of course, she went with me," Voldemort corrected and he moved his wand in an arch. The gates swung open and he urged his horse forward.

Narcissa stepped in front of the horse, reaching for his horse's muzzle, hushing it gently. She pet its face and looked up at Voldemort. She looked so young.

"You are going South again. You always go South. Please, let me in. Tell me. Let me help," Narcissa urged. She took a step closer, dragging her hands down the side of the horse's throat. "I am no longer the little girl you taught. I am the mother of a King."

"Aye. You are," Voldemort hissed, tauntingly.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed at the mockery that twisted his tone.

"You always underestimated me, Brother, but, I was the one that was most like you and still you never let me in. I was a child but, I am no longer. I am just as accomplished as you. I am the Lady of the Coin. I have ensured the continued prosperity of Albion. I have raised my son, alone. All I ask is that you let me in," Narcissa said, firmly.

And Voldemort observed his sister for a long time, staring down at her. She looked so young. So young. She had been too young when he had left. She hadn't understood what the blood smeared across his cheeks meant. She'd only learned once she had seen the heart between his teeth.

"Narcissa," he said, his voice soft. "I have always left."

He watched her expression crumble, the way it had when she had seen Helena's body. That was the first time that she realized what exactly her adored sister and brother were capable of. She had blamed Bellatrix first, slamming her small fists into Bellatrix's stomach over and over again as she screamed before she broke down, sobbing into Bellatrix's skirts. Bellatrix had held her while she wept. Voldemort had done nothing but watch until he told her to make her heart like ice.

Bellatrix had _comforted_ her.

And Narcissa had killed her anyway.

Their sister. His sister, the woman that shared a womb with him.

And Voldemort _hated._

Narcissa took a step back, lifting her head. All traces of vulnerability was gone, and she was hard and cold.

"Fine," she said, coldly. "Leave. Like you always have."

And so, Voldemort left.

 **OF**

She did not travel looking like herself nor did she use her names.

Sometimes, she was an old crone, gnarled and ugly. Sometimes, she was a beautiful maiden with long, silken brown curls and lavender eyes. Never violet. Her eyes were too recognizable. If Voldemort ever saw her, he would know. He always knew. Bellatrix's lips curled in rage as she thought about her brother. The man that had _betrayed_ her. The only kin that mattered. The only kin that was hers in blood, bone, and water.

No, it wouldn't do her any good to think about her brother. Thinking of him only led to rage, an uncontrollable frenzy that made her feel animal and mortal in equal parts. She would be above such things. She had a goal. It had been a long time since Bellatrix had had a goal.

She would be controlled and disciplined, in a way she hadn't been since she and her brother had been too young to have swords in their hands and sent off into the world as if they were soldiers. They had become soldiers, children in a war that they had no business being in.

The bustling streets of Velothi offered her nothing but the scent of rotting fish and reminded her of the emptiness of her stomach.

Wordlessly, she summoned a roll of bread from a passing baker and took a hearty bite of it. It was not much but, it would do until she gathered her wits. As she elbowed her way through the overcrowded streets, she wordlessly Summoned all of her essentials—a new cloak, a bag of coin, another roll of bread and a tiny little burlap bag.

Sliding into an alleyway, she admired the small drawstring bag. It was perfectly suited for her purposes.

" _Capacious extremis_ ," she carefully cast.

The Undetectable Extension Charm was tricky, and Bellatrix's talents had always lied with dueling first and foremost. But, it worked effectively with a shower of sparks and Bellatrix tucked away all of her new findings.

"What's a pretty little thing like you got there?"

Bellatrix looked up, sharply, her lavender eyes flashing dangerously as she eyed the ragged man slumped against the wall. His eyes tracked her heaving breasts, the dip of her waist, the roundness of her hips. Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

"Do not speak to us," Bellatrix said shortly. She turned on her heel, ready to venture further out as she wrapped her new cloak around her shoulders.

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and jerked her back. Bellatrix stumbled back in surprise.

"There's only one of ye. And I'mma much bigger than you, pretty thing. Lemme see that little bag you got," the man said, his rancid breath heavy against the side of her face, his hand pawing at her round breast.

Bellatrix snarled and spun. With the momentum of her turn, her fist connected with the man's jaw. His head snapped to the side and he stumbled, grabbing at his jaw with a quiet snarl of agony. Bellatrix didn't give him time to recover.

" _Mardkhora_ ," she snarled.

With grim satisfaction, she watched as the spell did its work. The man's arms were torn free first and he screamed. His screams were lost in the bustle of high afternoon in the port city. Blood spurted free, splashing over Bellatrix's jaw. She didn't flinch, her eyes trained on the man. His legs went next, torn up into chunks of flesh and waves of crimson, staining the dirty alley walls with blood. His organs smelled like they were burning as the magic ate away at him, devouring him whole.

Bellatrix had to admire him. Not many survived that long.

"We are Queen Bellatrix of the Albion Empire and you will not touch us," Bellatrix snarled.

When it was finished, he was only a bloody pulpy mess of a man. Bellatrix turned from the mess, stepping through it. The hem of her dress was soaked in red and she mopped at her face with the inside of her new cloak. Bellatrix waved her wand, glamouring herself again as a young woman, this time with blonde hair, as pale as Pandora's. She ducked through the streets again.

The scent of the ocean and the rotting fish grew stronger and stronger until it threatened to overwhelm as she walked onto the dock, rounding out the line of people.

"What are you looking to do, lass?" asked a gruff seaman, his mustache bushy and stinking of a sea salt.

"We need safe passage. I offer five galleons," Bellatrix said, her new voice higher and sweeter than her own. She reached into her small burlap and pulled forth the three coins. The seaman greedily snatched it, stuffing them into his coat.

"Safe passage where?" he demanded.

Bellatrix smiled. "To the Free-States. To Eshnur."

To the Deathless' tomb.

 **THEM**

Only the Burrow remained.

The stables had been emptied, the tents were broken down, the overturned gardens holding nothing but weeds. Madame McGonagall and Ron stood at the front of the last group of 50 able men and women. Some were Muggles, more were wizarding kind. They all bowed to Harry as he walked through the small crowd of people towards his General and her protege.

"Your Grace," Madame McGonagall said, dipping her head in respect.

"Harry," Ron said with a small smile, slightly rueful and full of resignation. "We're all set to leave."

"When will you ride out?" McGonagall asked.

"There's...I must say goodbye to my parents," Harry said, his voice soft and he ignored the pity and understand in their eyes. He was like fire, ever-changing and mercurial. He took a step back and looked at the group. "Go to Westeron. Lead in my absence. I will follow. I have sent an owl to Lady Warden Andromeda asking her to find accommodations for 2000 more, at the very least."

Ron faltered. "2000? Harry, what are you planning?"

Harry smiled softly. He lifted his Portkey that began to glow blue. "Tell Tonks, Kingsley, and the Dark Lord that I will return shortly," he said, just as he was consumed the blue swirling of the Portkey magic.

When he landed, he stumbled, unused to taking a Portkey when he wasn't on horseback. Harry righted himself and looked up at the enormous tower. He could hear Fawkes. _Fawkes_. The phoenix's lament was eternal, forever mourning the loss of Lily Gryffindor. Harry's heart ached to see Fawkes but, he knew that Voldemort was right. Fawkes wouldn't return and Harry shouldn't seek him out.

Instead, he walked towards the mausoleum, pushing open the doors firmly. Harry left them open behind him. They would find him.

He descended into the darkness, knowing the steps though he had only been once before, and when he made it to the bottom, he shivered. It was colder than he remembered. Harry dipped his hand into the cool oil, and set it alight. He watched as the flames raced along the troughs of oil, lighting up the tomb.

There were still ashes and the walls were scorched from the birth of Freia. But, his mother's statue was unharmed. Slowly, Harry crept forward, entranced by the green eyes that were her eyes. They were the same shade of green as his own eyes.

Still, he moved past the frozen image of his mother, walking around into the small alcove. It was dimmer here but still enough that he could read.

Harry had never gone around the statue of his mother. He had never felt the urge to do so. Now, he wished he never had. He stared at the tombs, at the marble where their names were carved. Etched in stone. Their bones were behind those two slabs of marble. Harry's heart ached but, he refused to crumble. Harry looked at the words inscribed in the marble between theirs.

"'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death'," Harry read, softly, as he stared at his parents' tombs, their names carved into marble, the words, just between the two marks. He pressed his hands to the squares with their names.

Their bones would lay forever in marble. Murdered before their time by the man that Harry trusted singularly. It was disconcerting. It was terrifying. He was _terrified_.

"I will return, Mother. Father. I swear it," Harry whispered.

He would return to them. He would see them again. And he knew that he would not be back there until after the war was said and done. Not until he had throne under him and Hogwarts in his grasp. Blood would be spilled before he could see his mother and father. Fire would raze men and the sky would rain ashes. Harry did not look forward to that but, it was coming. He could feel it.

Harry took a step back and slowly straightened his robes. He reached up, straightening his crown and slowly turned. He was unsurprised by the crimson eyes that watched him.

Voldemort always watched him.

"Your Grace," Voldemort said, holding out his hand towards the door.

Instead, Harry crowded against him, running his hands up Voldemort's chest, shivering against him. He pressed his face into Voldemort's shoulder and breathed him in, drowning in his scent. He always smelled clean and _magical_ , for lack of a better word. Voldemort smelled like how it felt to cast magic. He smelled like ice.

"Don't make me beg, asshole," Harry whispered.

Voldemort's wrapped around his arms around his waist, pulling him in tight. Harry clung to him. He allowed it for only a moment. And then, he took a step back and straightened his robes again. Voldemort's eyes followed him, consumed him, swallowed him alive.

"Are you ready?" the Dark Lord asked.

Harry swallowed hard. "How do I look?"

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life."

Harry nodded once. He lifted his head, wiping any uncertainty from his face.

"Good. Time to go."

 **ALL?**

Fudge and Madame Umbridge knew he was coming truly before he had appeared. But, they knew him for who he was when they saw him. Umbridge's lips curled into a sneer. Harry Wildfyre, the Fairest of Them All, lived up to his name.

He rode before the small group, his head held high. He was the picture of arrogance, his plump red lips twisted into a smirk, his pretty jaw set. His hair was wild and he wore a crown of silver and rubies in his head. He looked the picture of a prince but, as breakable as Lily Gryffindor had been. Madame Umbridge hissed at Fudge when she looked at him. His jaw had dropped and he was watched the Fairest with pure lust.

Madame Umbridge surveyed the rest. Cornelius would be no help.

Accompanying the Fairest were three figures. A dark-skinned man that had an enormous covered rolling cart attached to the back of his great horse. A man whose face was shrouded in shadow by the enormity of his hood. And a pink-haired woman whose red cloak billowed behind her, revealing the clothing of a whore.

What _interesting_ company this pretty prince kept.

Harry Wildfyre stopped before them and lifted his chin with narrowed eyes.

"I am Harry Wildfyre," he declared.

"We...we know who you are," Cornelius stuttered. "I am Cornelius Fudge, one of the overseers of Crowmere Camp."

Umbridge cleared her throat, a light 'hem, hem' that made Harry wince. Harry watched the two with vague interest. Umbridge looked very much like a toad while Cornelius Fudge was a portly old man that watched him with the same lust as every other man. Well. Umbridge would be the one in control, then.

Harry focussed all of his attention on her.

"I am Madame Dolores Umbridge, overseer of Crowmere Camp. Why have you come? Have you come to burn us too?" Umbridge asked.

Harry's lips curled into a tight smile. "No. I've come to assess the camp. After all, Karnaron is my ancestral land. Anything here belongs to me."

Umbridge resisted the urge to scoff, only giving a saccharine smile. She nodded once.

"Of course, my Lord," Umbridge said.

Harry's smile grew wider. Carefully, he dismounted and looked at the gates of Crowmere Camp. The walls were made of tall columns of wood, bound by iron. A shirtless centaur waited just beyond the gates, his eyes wide with interest. Harry nodded once and turned back to his company.

"Tonks, Kingsley, my Lord. Come," Harry said. He turned back to Umbridge. "I would ask that my man, Kingsley, takes his horse and our cart inside. We have something of great value."

Umbridge's eyes lit up with greed. She nodded once. "Certainly."

And they entered the abyss, Harry tucked between Umbridge and Fudge, his company as his shadow.

"Madame, tell me about this camp. These creatures are slaves, yes?"

"Soldiers would be apter, my Lord," Fudge said, practically salivating. His hand pressed against the small of Harry's back, daring to pass further down.

A hand snatched at Fudge's wrist and yanked the older man. Fudge stumbled as the hooded man's grip tightened.

"My Lord," Harry warned, gently. The Lord released his grip and took a step back, stepping closer to Tonks. Harry turned back towards Fudge, a small smile on his lips. "I apologize. The three are my personal guard and they are protective."

Fudge no longer looked amused or pleased by his beauty. "Of course," he bit out, stepping around and placing Umbridge in the middle of them all.

"Cornelius is right. They are soldiers. They have been trained to stand for a day and a night without food or water. They will stand until they drop. Such is their newfound obedience," Umbridge said, sharply.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"They may suit my needs," was all that he said.

Umbridge watched him, curious about his words but she didn't question him just yet.

"Every day, they drill. Most of the creatures here have previous experience with weapons. The centaurs are most skilled at archery, the giants have been drilled in spear-throwing, the werewolves have gained a resistance to most forms of silver and have gotten control over transforming partially without the help of the moon, and the Veela are trained pleasure slaves though their fire should be useful in battle," Umbridge said, clinically.

If she noticed the flash in Harry's eyes, she said nothing.

"This Karnaron Pretender whore will be our deaths," Fudge hissed into Umbridge's ear.

Harry imagined that Fudge thought he couldn't hear him but, Harry was neither deaf nor dumb. His smile widened.

"And you promise their obedience?" Harry asked.

"I shall demonstrate," Umbridge said and she snapped once. A soldier stepped forward from his post and crossed to the cages along the walls. Harry winced when the creatures inside—indistinguishable in their filth—didn't even flinch.

An ordinary man was ripped from the cage and thrown forward. Harry frowned as he watched the man's face. He looked exhausted, his hair ashen, but he was broad and strong. His hair was wild and his eyes were amber. It was all quite familiar.

"A werewolf," Tonks clarified.

Harry watched as the man was made to kneel before them and Umbridge lifted her pink whip.

" _Caneo_ ," she cast and Harry watched in horror as the tails of her whip were turned silver.

Then, she brought it down with a strength that Harry hadn't expected in her body. Harry flinched as the man's back arched and he smelled the sizzling of burning flesh. And still, the man still didn't cry out. He took it, his eyes dull and dark as Umbridge brought the whip down again and again until the man's back was a gory bubbling mess of blood and pus.

"Stop it," Harry snarled.

Umbridge looked up, her lips pulled into that condescending smile. Cornelius looked grim but approving.

"Their obedience is unquestionable," Umbridge said. "Is another demonstration in order?"

Harry looked down at the man. He hadn't moved from his position though his muscles trembled with pain. He looked like he was trying not to pass out from the agony. The wounds were already beginning to fester and Harry could feel this man's pain.

"No," Harry whispered.

"We make certain there is no weakness left in them," Fudge said firmly.

Harry nodded.

Umbridge turned towards the blonde shirtless centaur that had trailed after them. He seemed the cleanest of the lot. "Go and prepare tea. The young prince must be exhausted after witnessing such a display."

Harry nodded and turned towards Fudge and Umbridge. "Show me the rest. How many are here?"

"Upwards 2000, not nearly as many as 3000," Fudge said sharply and they began to tour the rest of the camp.

Harry took in the wretched circumstances. His nose wrinkled at the stench of feces and urine, the stale smell of unwashed bodies and the overwhelming scent of blood. The ones that had been punished hurt the most, some broken and others blinded but, all had suffered terrible things at the hand of these two _things_. Harry hesitated to even call them human as his heart ached. He watched the young centaur, barely older than a foal, his milky eyes staring out blindly but he moved as if he could see Harry.

They had trained even the children. Broken them into little toy soldiers. Harry's grief turned into fury as Fudge recounted memories of torture as if they were accomplishments. Ah, this blind little centaur could still command a bow better than any even with his blindness. That banshee had been punished and only spoke when she was commanded to.

The broken bodies of defiled Veelas and Harry remembered a time of wandering hands. Hands that burned everywhere they touched until Harry had learned to burn them all back. These Veela had fire too, and he felt a sort of kinship with them.

Many had died, more had survived. Those were the words Umbridge and Fudge repeated over and over again, as if that was something to be _proud_ of.

"I suppose it's time to speak on why I'm really here," Harry said, firmly.

Umbridge paused and then turned her eyes to Harry. She had only ever watched Harry, having marked Kingsley, Tonks, and the hooded man as non-threats.

Her _first_ mistake.

"I concur. Let us have tea," Umbridge said sweetly and led him to the open pavilion at the center of Crowmere Camp.

Harry fell back, allowing Umbridge and Fudge to scuttle before him. Tonks stepped to his side, immediately, and the Dark Lord stood at his other side.

"Harry...what do you plan to do?" Tonks whispered, softly.

"You haven't shared your plans," Kingsley remarked, further back as he led his horse forward and the enormous cart attached. Harry looked warily at Voldemort but, the Dark Lord remained silent through it all.

Just as he had promised.

"In time," Harry muttered, hoping that he wouldn't overplay his hand. "Bring forth the trunk. And keep _her_ quiet, please. At least…"

Harry trailed off and stepped forward, his robes billowing around him as he moved to sit on the offered chair. At least, it was at equal height with the overseers of Crowmere Camp, though Voldemort would see it as an insult. Harry was a King, and thus, should sit higher. But, that was no matter.

"Tea, my Lord?" Umbridge asked as she laid her pink whip across her lap and sipped at her own tea. The blonde centaur took a step forward.

"That won't be necessary," Harry said, dismissively. "These creatures are well-trained and disciplined."

"They are soldiers, meant to be used in the King's army. In his war against _you_ ," Umbridge said pointedly and Harry hummed.

"I see. Then, why have you allowed me to come?" Harry countered. Umbridge faltered. "You are afraid of me, though you pretend not to be. Caught between two terrible, feared Kings. One that would slaughter you for your betrayal and the other, a wildfire waiting to strike. You received ashes, did you not?"

"Aye. We know how you burn your enemies," Fudge bit out, angrily.

Harry smiled. "I do. And so, you let me come here, under false pretenses, once more, afraid of two Kings but, ready to betray the one you're loyal to. Just to save your skins. Where is your honor?" Harry asked and Tonks snorted, nastily. Harry's smile widened.

"There is no honor in war," Umbridge barked.

"Perhaps, not," Harry murmured. He leaned forward and waited.

Fudge and Umbridge whispered to each other, as if he could not hear. Their soldiers, Draco's soldiers, stared at him as if he could not see. And Harry reveled in their underestimation.

"I want to buy them all," Harry said, standing before Fudge and Umbridge. They leaned together, whispering and speaking. He heard the words— 'slut', 'whore', 'strumpet'. His lips curled into a small smile even as Tonks and Kingsley stiffened at his sides.

Voldemort didn't flinch, his hood draped over his head, carefully concealing him.

"You cannot afford them," Umbridge said, tittering over her tea.

"I will return the gold that Pius Thicknesse gave me," Harry said. He nodded once and Voldemort lifted his wand, floating the trunk towards them and opening it with a flick of his wand.

"Our lost profits," Fudge squeaked, greedily. He looked over at Umbridge but she hadn't looked away from Harry once.

"But, it's not all of it," Umbridge said, shrewdly. "Where is the rest of it? You think you can buy _2000_ creatures with half a trunk of gold?"

Harry shook his head. He cleared his throat, readying himself to play the trump card.

"No. I have something of more worth. I have a dragon," Harry said, gesturing to the enormous cage that floated behind him. He gently guided his wand, setting it in front of him. The shrieking grew louder as Freia slammed against the sides of the magically enforced box. His heart ached.

Fudge and Umbridge froze. "I'm sorry?" Fudge whispered.

" _Alohomora_ ," Harry whispered, and then, " _Accio,_ chain."

The box fell open and Freia's wings flapped open. The chain shot into his hand and he watched as Freia shrieked, flying into the air, just as far as the chain would allow. Fudge and Umbridge stared with unabashed lust as Freia hissed, spitting angrily at them.

"Your _Grace_ ," Tonks whispered, frantically. "You will win the war with Freia. Not slave creatures."

"Reconsider, your Grace," Kingsley warned.

Harry ignored them. Voldemort's presence was steady behind him. Harry stared at Umbridge and Fudge whispered to each other, greed twitching in their fingers. They paid Harry no mind. Harry looked at Tonks and Kingsley with irritation.

"You are both here to advise me. But, question me again, and you'll advise someone else," Harry hissed from the corner of his mouth before he turned back to Fudge and Umbridge.

Umbridge sipped at her tea one more time and then nodded. "Done. This way." _Whore._

"I would ask a gift from you. That centaur too. Your personal one," Harry said, nodding to the shirtless blonde centaur. He looked up wide-eyed at Harry. Harry did not allow himself to smile.

"Done, done," Fudge babbled before Umbridge could speak. Umbridge snarled at Fudge but, Fudge paid her no mind.

Harry nodded, tugging Freia behind him and she flew after him, his sweet dragon was nearly fully grown. His heart ached to see her in chains. His Freia, who was only a few months old. A child. A babe still. His babe. He hardened his heart and continued outside. He saw them stare at him, wide eyes, trembling before him.

The house elves, goblins, and centaurs looked at him with awe and fear. The Veela clutched each other whispering. The banshees and trolls and the three captured giants. The werewolves and the leprechauns. The Fae. They all whispered. All men and women and creature were the same. Always gossiping.

Harry looked to the centaur that walked by his side.

"What is your name?" Harry asked.

"Firenze, your Grace," he said.

Harry's lips twitched. "Good. Your herd rides with me. Does the name Bane mean anything to you?"

"My brother," Firenze breathed.

"He sent me to find you," Harry said.

Firenze cleared his throat. "The dragon follows you...there are songs about you. Wyrdfod."

"That's what I've been called," Harry said softly as they drew to the middle of the camp and Fudge and Umbridge stopped, looking at him with expectation. Harry cleared his throat as he looked at the bright pink whip in Umbridge's hand.

"They are untested. It would be wise to blood them early," Umbridge said, her high voice grating on Harry's ears. She never looked away from Freia. "Aprulcaster is along the coast of Karnaron. It's ripe for sacking. Should you take any creature captive, we would gladly accept them from you to make up for lost inventory."

Harry hummed and stepped forward, the only sound the beating of Freia's wings and the whispers. Harry held out his hand for the whip and took it from her. Umbridge snatched the chain and Freia shrieked, craning her neck towards Harry. Harry closed his eyes to the soft yellow eyes. His Freia.

"Is it done, then?" Tonks asked, softly.

"He holds the whip. He is their master now," Fudge said, reaching touch the chain that Umbridge jerked out of his reach. He leaned in to whisper, "The bitch has his army. We must go before the King finds us."

And slowly, Harry raised his wand, causing all of the cages to creak open. He waited, silently as the creatures filed out, their eyes never straying from him. Harry glanced at Freia and swallowed hard as she hissed and spat, trying to pull closer to Harry. Harry hardened his heart and turned away to look at his newly acquired army.

Harry looked at all of the creatures. They spoke the language that he had been learning. The language that called fire to be his servant. The old Ancient tongue that Voldemort and Bellatrix had been taught by the witch that had made them what they were. He cleared his throat.

" _Gwith!_ " he shouted.

Firenze twitched in surprise at his side.

The creatures stood to attention, moving in such a way that they seemed enchanted. They looked at him, whispering that name over and over again. _Wyrdfod._

" _Pada-tirith_ ," Harry snarled.

They marched forward, falling into formation. Well. Umbridge had been a formidable master indeed, beating obedience into them all. Breaking them. Harry's stomach turned and he cleared his throat, clearing his mind.

" _Dar-tirith_."

They halted.

Harry nodded. He looked back at Voldemort. Voldemort nodded once. Harry's lips curled into a smile.

"Tell the whore that his beast won't come," Fudge whined to Firenze, forgetting himself. Harry froze, turning to regard the man with chilly green eyes.

Fudge froze, looking up with wild eyes.

"I am not a bitch. Or a slut. Or a whore," Harry said, coldly. "I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, the Wyrdfod, and the Fairest of Them All."

"Wyrdfod?" Firenze whispered to Harry.

Harry turned back to the creatures.

" _Gwith!_ _Dag herdir a heryn! Dag Draco tín doeg! Dag fîr na muil!_ " Harry declared, holding the whip up. The creatures roared in approval. Umbridge's eyes widened and she shook her head, tugging on the chain.

Freia let out a warning shriek.

"What did you tell them? What did you— _no!_ " Umbridge shrieked as Tonks spun, pulling her sword, and sunk it into one soldier. Tonks ripped it out with a snarl, wiping the blood across the hem of her crimson cloak.

A Veela woman exploded into the wind, flames twirling around her as she grabbed another soldier, snapping his neck with a fury. Harry's lips pulled into a smile and he held his hand out to Voldemort. Voldemort stepped forward, pulling away his hood, his eyes glowing bright red. Fudge squeaked.

"My Lord?" Fudge whispered. "A trick to disprove our loyalty?"

"I'm afraid not," Voldemort whispered. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of Harry's ear. "Call her to you. We must go."

"Not yet, " Harry said. He stepped forward, looking up as Freia tried to jerk away from the magical chains. Harry pulled his wand. Umbridge pulled her wand out.

" _Cruc—"_

" _Expelliarmus._ A dragon is not a slave," Harry whispered as Umbridge's wand flew into his hand. He turned his jewel eyes onto Freia. She met his gaze with poisonous yellow. " _Füir."_

And Freia opened her mouth and let out a roaring plume of flames. Harry took pleasure as Umbridge's large eyes bugged out as she was enveloped in fire. Harry lifted his chin as Fudge and Umbridge screamed, their skin bubbling, blackening, turning into ash. The smell of burning flesh was acrid in the air and the grass was catching fire. Harry lifted his hand and watched as the fire centered on the two.

Harry turned as the creatures dove into their massacre, fighting and destroying their oppressors. Harry held out his hand and Freia landed next to him with a thud that made the ground tremble. She pressed her large head against his middle, spitting and hissing.

Blood slicked the grass. Iron and steel fell to the ground. Harry would take everything that was left. It would be useful for his troops. Harry watched as they destroyed them all with a smile.

"Well, you blooded them early," Tonks laughed.

Kingsley looked at Harry with newfound respect. "Well done, your Grace."

Voldemort hummed. "Well done, indeed."

Harry walked forward towards Firenze, extending his hand. Firenze bowed his head.

"Wyrdfod. Your Grace," Firenze whispered.

"Do they speak the common tongue?" Harry asked. He looked at Firenze, apologetically. "I only know enough to command an army. But, I can learn."

Firenze nodded. "They mistrusted those that spoke the common tongue. But, you have led them against their oppressors. They will follow you. You are Wyrdfod," Firenze said.

"Good," Harry murmured. He turned back to the troops that waited for him. " _Gwith!_ You have been taken from your homes! Put into the chains of slavery. Humiliated and scorned. But, no more! Today, I free you! Any man or woman or creature that wishes to leave, may do so, without fear of harm. I am not here to subjugate you. After all, I was once a slave!"

They whispered to each other. That word. That _word._ Wyrdfod. Wyrdfod.

"But, I come to you! I am Harry Wildfyre! You call me Wyrdfod! The Wyrdfod would ask you to fight in his name, to help free the rest of this country from bondage! Will you ride with me?" he roared, tossing the whip to the ground.

Firenze was the first to step forward. "Wyrdfod! Wyrdfod! Wyrdfod!"

And then, the rest followed. It began as a whisper. Their whispers. And then it rose into a mighty roar that shook the ground and the trees. Freia tossed back her head and let out a shriek.

" _WYRDFOD! WYRDFOD! WYRDFOD_!"

Harry grinned.

Triumph.

:::

 **A/N:** Hey, y'all. Long time no see. Sorry about the update delay. Midterms came and beat the shit out of me. NOT FUN.

Anyway, here's the next chapter and hopefully, I can get the next chapter out sooner than later. I might update that one early because I'm SOOOOO excited about what's happening in the next chapter. Just really great stuff that I'm sure a lot of readers have been waiting for. Anyway, you know the drill. If you've got questions, comments, and I _guess_ , complaints, just review below!

HAVE A GREAT DAY/NIGHT/WHATEVER TIME FLOATS YOUR BOAT.

THANKS FOR READING!


	24. Chapter Twenty

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twenty

Weeks of travel had resulted in this.

The settlement at the foot of Westeron was a magnificent thing, The village that had been just outside of the walls of the city had quadrupled in size under Percy and Regulus' watchful eyes. Cottages and greenhouses and shops and schoolhouses had been raised. And the refugees would thrive there, finally able to call somewhere home besides their aging tents and a small piece of land cut from a corner of Karnaron.

"I have to say, his Grace was right about the move," Lady Warden Andromeda said as they walked through the mass construction.

Ron smirked as Percy's chest puffed up and he looked around, his head swiveling like a peacock as he observed his hard work.

"He's a good leader," Ron crowed. "Even if some doubted him."

Moody grumbled as he watched the raising of what would no doubt be a city. If there was anyone that was less than pleased about the mood, it was Moody. Ron suspected that it was because Harry had proven him wrong—Harry _was_ a King and a damned good one at that. Moody had expected someone broken and Harry was anything but broken.

"How could anyone have any doubt? I didn't bend the knee because my brother demanded it. I bent the knee because he was good and far more than this wretched empire deserves," Andromeda said firmly and Regulus looked at his mistress and mother-figure with a raised eyebrow.

"You all really think he can free us from Narcissa and Draco's reign? You think he can right the wrongs of the Slytherins?" Regulus asked with a quiet doubt.

Ron regarded Regulus Black for a long moment. Regulus was only a few years older, eight years at most. But, he was so much more jaded. He had seemed doubtful from the moment the people had begun to arrive and build up a city that they had deserved after being nomads and refugees for so long.

"I really do," Ron said. Regulus looked at him with shrewd eyes. "I was raised on stories of Harry. My parents, before they passed, told us that there was a child that would end it all. The death and madness, the famine and destruction. And when I met Harry, maybe, he wasn't all that I expected. But, he has become the King he was born to be."

Regulus didn't seem to quite believe him but, Ron knew that once he met Harry, he would understand. No one really understood until they met Harry. Even Moody had taken time before he had submitted, though he hadn't done so gracefully. Ron looked over to Madame McGonagall.

"What remains to be done, Percy?" Madame McGonagall asked.

"Barracks, Madame. And a large mess hall for the soldiers. We might also need a bigger stable but, that remains to be seen. I've been thinking about assembling a team to breed horses," Percy said and Regulus hummed in appreciation at the pragmatic idea. He nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure we have a few experts amongst our people. I'll make sure to help you with that team," Regulus said and Percy nodded in thanks.

"We must begin finding accommodations for the Western families. But, we cannot rely on their armies until a formal declaration of war," Andromeda said.

Ron frowned, suddenly intrigued by her words. He opened his mouth to ask but was interrupted by a shout.

"Madame! Madame! Moody! We've just gotten a letter! From the King!"

The small group looked up. McKinnon and Emmeline Vance were jogging from the Owlery building, an open piece of parchment flapping in McKinnon's hand. Moody stepped forward but Andromeda was faster, tearing the letter out of McKinnon's hand, to the woman's disgruntlement. Andromeda scanned the letter and her lips curled into a smile. She passed the letter along to McGonagall.

"What does it say?" Ron asked eagerly.

McGonagall hummed. "The King has secured an army of 2000 creatures. It brings our army up to nearly 5000, once we begin training. But, it isn't enough. Draco has an army of nearly 40,000."

"40,000 that are three-quarters Muggles, and poorly-trained at that. Dolohov would never spare a moment on them," Andromeda insisted. "Once Rodolphus is here. We can begin _true_ training. And then, the Alfheimeans. If he can woo Cedric, that'll give us the numbers that it's not such a task."

"It's still _not_ enough," Moody insisted.

Andromeda frowned at the man. "What is your idea then?"

"I have none. The King prefers me silent and would disregard my counsel," Moody said, snappishly. Ron scoffed at the man and shook his head.

"You're only upset that he made the Dark Lord his Lord Chancellor," Ron said and he no longer flinched when Moody growled at him. He could feel McGonagall's approval even though he didn't turn to look for it. He stood straighter.

Andromeda shook her head as she looked out past the city. She had long begun preparations as the King had asked but, she hadn't truly believed he'd bring an army of such size. There was work to be done. "My brother has tricks up his sleeve. Do not worry, Madame. We _will_ have the numbers. I'm sure of it."

 **MIRROR**

Harry looked out over his army of 2000 with soft eyes. They seemed brighter than when he found them. They broke their fasts over warm fires and mead and bread that they had taken from the camp before their departure. A wild owl was flying towards the centaur herds, telling them of the conquering of Crowmere Camp, shouting the arrival of the Wyrdfod. The centaur herds would meet them at Westeron, and then it would truly begin.

"You've done the impossible, Harry," Tonks said, congratulatory.

Harry's lips curled into a smile. "Implausible. Not impossible."

"No, the word is impossible," Kingsley corrected. Harry looked at his Infantry Commander. "You have done many impossible things, your Grace. Brought dragons back to the world of the living. Freed 2000 slaves by yourself. And now, you will take back Albion. I'm sure of it, now."

"Did you have doubts before?" Harry asked with amusement and he was surprised when Kingsley nodded, looking out over the uplifted creatures.

"I did. It's hard not to doubt when you've lived under subjugation for so many years," Kingsley sighed and Harry hummed, tilting his head.

"I suppose that's true. I had doubts as to whether I'd ever escape my aunt and uncle," Harry said, softly. He shook his head, pushing away terribly sad thoughts and memories. "Never mind that all. Good night. It's been a long day.

He slipped away from Tonks and Kingsley, moving closer to the mouth of his tent. He looked over his shoulder at the two that stared back at him with raised eyebrows. He turned back to Freia, who was curled up on the side of his tent, finally free of the chains. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the hot scales of her neck. She breathed out lazily and purred softly.

"Good night, my love," he murmured before he slipped between crimson folds of fabric. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the Dark Lord lounging on his chaise, a book in hand. "Are you attempting to sleep in here, my Lord?"

"I like those words coming out of your mouth. 'My Lord'," Voldemort drawled without looking up from his book. He drew his quill across the page in a straight line and shut the small leather notebook with a resoundingly quiet thud. "Am I your Lord, Harry?"

"No. But, I am your King. So, tell your King why you're in his tent," Harry said with amusement, his eyes bright as he moved closer to the chaise and sat down on the other side of it, curling his legs underneath him.

"Marking off plans that have been completed. Your numbers go up nearly 5000," Voldemort hummed.

"Not enough. How much of the Alfheimean army do I need?" Harry asked.

"Only a quarter. Doesn't give you the numbers but you will be much closer to outmatching them. Alfheimeans are trained from birth to kill. You won't have a better army. Besides your creatures," Voldemort said and Harry shook his head.

"They aren't my creatures. I am no one's Master," Harry said. He ignored Voldemort rolled his eyes and leaned back, closing his eyes briefly. "Tell me about Afallon. About Westeron. Tell me things that aren't books."

Voldemort looked at Harry for a long moment before he sighed.

"Afallon is the biggest piece of the continent. Only accessible by the bridge that we currently are only a day or so away from. It is beautiful. White cliffs and green grass. Plentiful. It's where all the grains and produce from most of the continent come from. The Narrow Sea is full of mermaids and grindylows and kelpies. I've met some of them," Voldemort narrated, softly.

"Something _not_ in books," Harry demanded, glowering at Voldemort. Voldemort snorted in amusement and nodded.

"Aye, I was getting there. Impatient brat," Voldemort snorted. Harry reached forward to pinch the man's inner thigh but a sharp jolt was his only reaction. Harry grinned. Voldemort smacked the younger man's hand away. "Your mother was born in Westeron."

Harry turned towards Voldemort and leaned forward. "Was she really? I thought she would've been born in Godric's Hollow."

"That was where she was blessed with her name but, no, she was born in Westeron. There was a conflict that Helga had in Afallon. With supporters of the Tabooed. Even now, sometimes, they form a small rebellion. An infestation that must be squashed," Voldemort said, and Harry frowned. It sounded like something Voldemort had repeated to himself many times over. Before he could question it, Voldemort continued. "She was born in Westeron to her mother, who insisted upon being in the frontlines until the very end."

"My grandmother must have been a _fearsome_ woman," Harry murmured.

Voldemort nodded. "I suppose she was. She fought in the battled against the Tabooed, led the infantry."

"So, my mother is _Afallonian_ ," Harry whispered. "It's fitting then that I will take Afallon after taking back my ancestral home. I will conquer them all. Afallon, then Karnaron. Then Essetir, then Orcate. Until they are surrounded on all sides."

Voldemort observed the young man, with his bright green eyes, demanding and proud. This man would be Emperor of the Albion Empire. He would sit on the Gilded Throne.

The Dark Lord would be _sure_ of it.

 **MIRROR**

She stomped off of the ship, fanning herself against the tropical heat. It was hot, hotter than even Karnaron and it made Bellatrix's lips curl into a sneer. How anyone could live in the United City-States was beyond her. Bellatrix ignored the stares that she got as walked onto one of the many docks of Eshnur and she took in the scent of salt. It would be the only time she smelled something close to fresh air. Soon, she'd only smell traitors and Mudbloods.

"Hello, beau—"

"Begone," Bellatrix snarled, nastily as she pushed through the crowds, pushing her damp hair from her face.

So, this was Salem. The place that they burned Pandora. _Pandora._

Bellatrix closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting the world happen around her. She had not thought about Pandora is a long time. She was at the place that they had killed her mentor. The only person that she had called friend, besides Tom. The only person that hadn't betrayed her, unlike her _blood_.

"They will pay Pandora. We promise," Bellatrix breathed into the air.

She would slaughter them all but, only after it was done. Only after she found the Deathless.

Bellatrix pushed through the crowds, pulling her hood over her hood. The Muggles were so ignorant, smiling and laughing as if they had no idea that away from this isolationist prison that the world was churning. They had no idea of the war that she would bring to their doorstep. They had no idea that just a ship away was a civil war unlike any the world had ever seen.

And that's what it would be.

Narcissa Godkiller would meet the Fairest, and she would experience everything that Bellatrix had in that moment that she had gotten a glimpse of him. Elation. Awe. Rage. Jealousy.

Terror.

 _Beauty is terror,_ Pandora had told them, once upon a time. _Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it._

Bellatrix's lips curled into a large smile. Pandora had known so much. After all, she had lived so very long. She had lived long enough to meet the Deathless and to watch two of them die. She had witnessed the births of nations and the deaths of them too. But, Pandora hadn't known everything. She couldn't have.

She hadn't realized that beauty was most terrifying when something was beautiful _forever_.

 **ON**

Cedric stood on the poop deck of his ship, overlooking the vast oceans. The sea was rather calm but, he knew not trust it once they were closer to the shores of Afallon, especially Westeron. The Narrow Sea and the oceans surrounding the West of Albion were not known for being kind. Cedric leaned on the railing of the ship and hummed. He wondered what Albion would be like. His father had never been had told him stories. Amelia had told him stories.

He remembered the day that she told him that she had once lost her white robes. To the Dark Lord.

Cedric had heard that the man was handsome, terribly so. And that he hadn't aged a day in decades, forever young. Only the most heinous of magic could accomplish such a thing.

"What bothers you, my love?"

Cedric smiled as arms wrapped around his middle and he felt Cho's cheek press between his shoulder blades. He turned in her arms and she crushed herself to his chest. Cedric hugged her back, tucking her head beneath his chin.

"I am only...wary of what is to come. This isn't something we can go into blind," Cedric warned and Cho nodded humming.

"I know. The Dark Lord Voldemort and the Southern King Harry Wildfyre. And if we're to meet them at Westeron, the Lady Warden Andromeda will be in on it too. Two Slytherins and a Gryffindor," Cho sighed, shaking her head. She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide. "You know, when we talked about them at home, it was almost as if they were myth. They couldn't be real. Monsters were for stories and yet, here we are."

"Here we are. Off to meet gods or monsters. I'm not sure which," Cedric allowed. They stood in silence, ruminating in their nerves and displeasure. Cedric was relieved when he heard the sound of steel crashing against steel and bright laughter.

He looked down at the weather deck and watched as Susan Bones threw herself across, swinging down two wickedly curved knives, catching Ernie's sword and twisted, disarming him. She swung around, holding both knives to his neck and Ernie sighed, shaking his head.

"Fine. I yield. Again. How about hand-to-hand now?" Ernie demanded.

Susan snorted, tossing her head back, her ivory robes billowing around her. "You couldn't beat me in that either," she teased.

"You forget who you're talking to Ern," Anthony said as he looked up from where he and Dean were sharpening blades. Dean smirked but didn't say anything, focusing on the task at hand. "She's been trained by the Madame-General since birth. Of course, you can't beat her. I doubt even Cedric could beat her."

"Is that a challenge?" Cedric called with a grin, already twitching from the excitement. It was rare that Susan even _wanted_ to duel with him, too afraid to 'hurt' him.

But, Susan seemed relaxed today. She shrugged, her eyes alight with mischief. "Well, if the Prince would like to fight one of his Adored, I'm happy to oblige. Hannah's here to heal you," Susan laughed and Cedric rolled his eyes as he pulled away from Cho, ignoring her fluttering hands.

"I'll remind you, Susan, I've got ivory robes too," Cedric smirked.

"Don't worry, love. Kick his ass," Hannah called as she steered the ship and Susan blew her a kiss before she turned back to Cedric, crooking a single finger.

Cedric practically threw himself down the stairs. Cho was on his heels, grabbing at his hands.

"Please...please don't fight," she begged, quietly. "I don't want you...don't fight for _sport_."

"Fight for sport is in my blood, my love," Cedric said, though unapologetically. He walked straight up to Susa and she cracked her neck, shrugging off her outer robe and falling into a low stance, slowly hilting one knife and pulling her wand. "Magic and steel?"

"Always."

This was the distraction that Cedric had needed, had practically begged for. They were fast approaching Westeron—they would be there within a month and he was terrified of what he would find. He was terrified that he was placing his Adored Ones and _Cho_ in danger, all over a threat that Cedric wasn't sure was serious. But, if it was serious, this would be a perfect time to reestablish relations with Albion, in case this Harry Wildfyre _won_.

But, there were so many factors, and Cedric was no king. He was a Prince, as his father before him, and he wished his father was there now. He wished his father had seen him beautiful and whole, instead of dying while Cedric had still been a beast. But, those thoughts didn't matter now.

Only the growl building in his throat, and the desperation for violence thrumming in his blood.

And Cedric pulled his wand and threw out his hand. With a single flick, he Summoned his blade to his hand and he grinned. "Alright. Someone set up wards. _Reducto!_ "

 **THE WALL**

Blood and sweat. Bones cracked. Noses broken. Healed. Repeat.

Those were Gabrielle's days.

She rose with the sun and when she emerged after a light breakfast meal, she walked into the ballroom, and Deyanira waited there. Some mornings, Fenrir was already gone, back to the city to work. Others, he watched. Sometimes, when Gabrielle's bones were broken, he would leave, unable to bear her screams of agony.

Gabrielle didn't scream anymore. Instead, she took it.

They didn't fuck anymore either. At least, not as often and not with the lights on. He didn't like to see her bruises, black marks that mottled her arms, her belly, her legs, her back. She had once rubbed bruise salve but, now, she liked the way they sometimes scarred her muscled arms.

The scars reminded her that she was powerful.

The scorch marks from spells that flew too close meant that she was fast enough to avoid them. The scars on her skin showed that she was not submissive and beautiful. They reminded her that even though she couldn't call fire or wind, like full-blood Veelas, she would be able to defend herself against anyone that came to fight her.

But, this morning, Deyanira did not wait at the center of the room, staff in hand. She sat where Fenrir usually would sit. Fenrir waited in the corner of the ballroom, unmoving, his face strangely cold. Gabrielle didn't mind. She had no eyes for him. There was a time and place for Fenrir when they would curl against each other and siphon each other's warmth, and talk about Albion and the books they were reading and the maps that Gabrielle or Fenrir had found in the deep recesses of the library.

This time belonged to Deyanira and so, all of Gabrielle's attention was commanded by her.

"A girl is nearly late," Deyanira sighed.

"A girl is _never_ late," Gabrielle barked with all bite and Deyanira's lips curled into one of her strange smiles that were both unforgiving yet amused.

"Is a girl ready to play a game?" Deyanira asked.

Gabrielle slowly sat down across from Deyanira, her eyes caught on the goblet that waited in front of her place. Deyanira snapped her fingers, grabbing her attention. Gabrielle looked up, annoyed, and was thoroughly unprepared for the punch in the face. Gabrielle's head slammed back against the back of her chain and she groaned at the crack.

"Fuck you," Gabrielle snarled, clutching at her bleeding nose. She slowly cracked her nose into place and pulled forth her wand. " _Episkey._ "

Her nose snapped back into place but the damage was done. Blood stained the collar of her tunic. But, she ignored it, turning to stare back at Deyanira.

"You could have dodged that. Answer my question. Is a girl ready to play a game?" Deyanira snarled and Gabrielle scoffed, nastily.

"All we do is play games."

"Good. Who are you?" Deyanira demanded and Gabrielle's emotions slipped away, falling away from her as she hastily compartmentalized and leaned forward, her eyes stuck on Deyanira.

"No one. Who are you?" she asked.

And Deyanira drew back as if surprised. It was the first time that Gabrielle had asked her it back, in the exact same way as she.

"Part of one," Deyanira answered. Gabrielle kept her eyes blank against the surprising question. "You will lose the game. A girl is ready to play."

Slowly, she pushed the goblet forward again and Gabrielle didn't hesitate. She took up and swallowed it in one go. And then, the world turned and filled with fog, and Gabrielle's stomach felt heavy. The agony was slow but it came, as all pain eventually did. It rolled through her body, settling in her cheeks, behind her eyes and she twisted and twitched, and vomit spewed from her body across the table.

The acrid scent of bile filled her nose as her eyes went dark.

"What did you do to me? _What_ did you _do_ to me?" she shrieked as she clutched at her eyes.

Her _unseeing_ eyes.

"A girl is ready to play," Deyanira said.

"FENRIR! FENRIR! HELP ME!" Gabrielle begged and wept, and she threw herself out of her chair, away from the bile, away from Deyanira and stumbled in the general direction of her husband. She twisted and turned as suddenly a heavy weight collided with her back.

She fell forward, cracking her head against the marble ground, and she tried to scramble away as she felt footsteps approach.

"Enough, Nira," Fenrir barked.

And then, he was kneeling in front of Gabrielle, wiping the bile from her mouth, holding her close.

"What did you let her give me? What did you let her do to me?" Gabrielle rasped in her ear, her noxious breath filling his nose and still, he held her close. She let out a wretched sob, her fingers raking across his chest, clinging to her.

"You want to be able to fight, Miss Gabrielle?" Fenrir murmured, his voice quiet. "Then, you will learn."

"I wanted to be able to _defend_ myself," Gabrielle sobbed, snot bubbling from her nose.

"You wanted to learn how to win," Fenrir corrected her, so gentle as he passed a handkerchief over her nose and his arms tightened around her as Gabrielle curled into his lap, trembling with terror.

"Tell her to give me back my sight! Tell her!" Gabrielle snarled.

"I thought a girl was ready to play." Deyanira's mocking voice hovered over her like a specter and Gabrielle twisted in Fenrir's arms, in the direction that she thought that wicked woman waited for her. She hissed.

"I will _kill_ you," Gabrielle barked.

"How can you? You can't even see," Deyanira said and for the first time, she laughed, terrible and mocking and once, it would have made Gabrielle feel small.

Instead, she felt _rage._

"And when I can, I will cut your head from your shoulders, you fucking cunt," Gabrielle hissed. She crawled from Fenrir's lab and jumped up, raising her wand in Deyanira's direction. She stumbled forward. " _Avada Kedavra._ "

She felt the pulse of magic and she heard it collide with the wall with a terrible crash. But, she still heard Deyanira, terrible and mocking. A staff connected with Gabrielle's chin, knocking her to her side, and she stumbled.

"What's your name?" Deyanira whispered in her ear and Gabrielle spun around, whipping a curse in her direction, a nameless one from a book that would tear Deyanira's entrails from her nose.

" _No one_ ," Gabrielle barked.

"I don't believe that. You don't believe that," Deyanira said.

And then, Gabrielle was hit in the stomach with a foot, knocking her back and another hit across her shoulder blades, sending her to knees. Gabrielle screamed, in rage and agony, she didn't know. She could no longer separate the two.

"A girl has no name,"Gabrielle said between clenched teeth and she could taste the copper of blood on her tongue. She waited for Fenrir to stop this but, Fenrir never stopped it. She couldn't wait for Fenrir to stop anyone because Fleur was right.

Gabrielle was on her _own_. Gabrielle was _strong._

"If a girl says her name, a woman will let her have her eyes back," Deyanira said and Gabrielle didn't need to reach up to know that Deyanira stood right in front of her. Deyanira always burned hot and Gabrielle could _feel_ her.

"A girl has no name. I am _no one_ ," Gabrielle whispered.

And Gabrielle didn't need to see to know that Deyanira was smiling.

"Do you know why a woman takes your eyes?" Deyanira asked.

Gabrielle knew she expected an answer. "No," she said with gritted teeth.

"You will learn to hear and see with your tongue. A woman has made you an animal. And only when the moon is your only friend, will you _truly_ be no one."

 **WHO**

"It's time."

Rowena looked up from her tome and frowned at the man who stood before her. It wasn't dawn yet and Salazar rarely rose before the sun was high in the sky. Even when they were younger, he so rarely had risen so early. And yet this morning, something had happened.

It was _time_.

"The sword, then," Rowena said as she slowly closed her book, a book that she had read a thousand times over. Her eyes narrowed as she attempted to make out the shape of Salazar as he lingered in the hallway.

"Yes. The Sword. He's ready. It burned. Hotter than even when Godric took it up. This Prince...he is more than just the rightful Heir. So much more," Salazar said.

And Rowena stopped herself from gasping when he stepped into the flickering lights from the fireplace. Salazar was dressed in battles robes. Leather and basilisk skin formed the poison green armor. It was the armor that he had once battle the Tabooed in. The armor that he had slain Ambrose in. And on his waist was the Sword of Gryffindor, forged in Godric's fire, used to slay Medraut of Orkney.

Salazar did not resemble the tired, old man that Rowena had come to know.

He looked like the great king he had once been.

"How are you so sure?" Rowena asked. She wasn't sure about anything anymore and she pressed her book to the side table, slowing standing to her feet.

"Rowena, the gnomes whisper at night. The air breathes the name 'Wyrdfod'," Salazar said, firmly.

Rowena knew the term, academically. 'Wyrdfod'. But, she only knew that it spoke of a savior. Someone 'Fateborn'. Otherwise, creatures were notoriously private about it all. But, if it was true. Then, Lily's son was more than just the Heir.

"What is his name?" Rowena murmured.

"They whisper 'Wyrdfod'. 'Alpha of the Pride'. 'The Breaker of Chains'. 'Dragon-Tamer'. But, he calls himself, Harry Wildfyre."

Rowena froze.

"A...he has a dragon?" she murmured.

Salazar hummed. "I do not know. But, we must go to him. It is what's right," he said, firmly and Rowena nodded, reaching for her wand. The former Queen walked past him in the hallway, the back of their hands brushing against each other.

She stepped into her room and ignored her unmade bed. Instead, she walked to the large wardrobe that she had kept locked for the past seventeen years. Rowena pulled out her wand, ash and a raven feather core, and she pointed it at the heavy padlock that held the doors shut.

" _Alohomora_."

The heavy lock fell from the wardrobe with a noisy thud that nearly made her flinch. The doors slowly creaked open to reveal the heavy bronze and navy battle robes and the two painted metal fans that hung at each shoulder. Rowena grabbed the fans from their perches, sliding her wand into the deepest groove. Rowena waved her fans, in the slowest motion and she watched as the robes swirled out of the wardrobe and melted over her body.

Her dark blue skirts swirled around her bare feet and she Conjured up a pair of boots. Rowena watched herself in her dusty mirror. If she squinted, she looked as she had in her prime.

Beautiful. Powerful.

There was beauty in age and living such a long life, painful as it had been. There was power in age as well. Dumbledore, their advisor, had been so very old and one of the most powerful wizards Rowena had ever known. Even now, Rowena mourned for him.

Rowena set her fans down and began to pull back her dark, silver-streaked hair, twisting it into a braid. She continued and when it fell to her waist, she wrapped it in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Quickly, she folded her fans and stowed them up her leather sleeves.

The Mad Queen was dead. The Dark Lord was gallivanting across the continent, clearly up to something. But, Rowena and Salazar would find him. They would find the prince before it was too late. Rowena left her room for the last time and she walked up to Salazar, a serious look on her face.

A rare smile wrinkled his lined face.

"What?" she barked.

"You look as you did more than half a century ago when you rode into battle for Essetir. Powerful. Beautiful. Infinite. The way you slaughtered Orcate," Salazar murmured and Rowena knew that he was reminiscing about simpler times.

Rowena nearly scoffed. The _Tabooed_ were simpler times, indeed. She gestured towards the door with a tilt of her head and gave a half-smile.

"We go by foot. Where to, Sal?"

She hadn't called him that since Essetir.

"To the West."

 **IS**

"Your brother is on his way to Westeron as we speak. He is a day away from the Western Bridge. He'll be at Westeron only days after us," Harry said as he walked through the crowd of young children. The creature children—young Veelas, banshees, centaurs, and Fae—all rushed up to him, babbling in the ancient language, attempting to grab his attention.

Harry laughed as the reached out to touch him, brushing their fingers against any open skin. He reached back to them, leaning down and scooping up one Veela child with brilliant pink eyes and silvery hair that reminded him of Teddy in attitude. Harry looked over his shoulder at Tonks who looked rather soft. She was thinking about her child too, then.

"I look forward to joining my herd again. I miss my brother," Firenze admitted. Harry looked at him again. He was lacking in scars, unlike some of the other creatures but, Harry knew grief and relief when he saw it.

He had felt both in equal measure too.

"Wyrdfod, Wyrdfod," the child in his arms called, tugging on one of his curls. The Veela child couldn't have been older than five years.

"Yes?" Harry murmured in silver hair.

"Where is the...the... _lhûg?_ " the child asked.

Harry's lips curled into a smile. "The dragon? Oh, sweet child, Freia is sleeping. You may see her later. And she is _rovalug._ With wings. She _flies_ ," Harry said, brushing his fingers over the child's belly. The children around him squealed and one centaur child, a boy, grabbed his free hand and tugged.

"A _rovalug_. Like in the song!" he shouted, almost accusatory.

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion and he glanced over at Tonks. The older woman was looking away. Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion. The other children squealed and began babbling to each other in the common tongue and the ancient language, overlapping and going in and out so fast that Harry could barely understand.

"What song?" Harry asked, calmly.

"You're the Wyrdfod! You should know your song."

"Maybe he's not the Wyrdfod. Maybe, he _lied._ "

Firenze's lips curled into a small smile. "Children. King Harry is the Wyrdfod. I promise you. The stars do not lie."

This seemed to calm the frantic children and the Veela child in Harry's arms squirmed so that they could turn their head towards Firenze.

"Sing for us, please, Firenze? Please," the Veela child pleaded.

Harry smirked as he sat down in the dirt, settling the child in his lap and the other children gathered around him, tucking close to his side. "Yes, Firenze. Sing for us please."

Firenze's lips twitched into a smile and he slowly settled, his four legs folding under him.

"Fine. Fine. I shall sing," Firenze murmured.

Harry leaned forward, his eyes concentrated on the blond centaur as he waited.

" _Fanuilos heryn aglar_

 _Aran athar haradren-dôr,_

 _Calad ammen i reniar_

 _Mi 'aladhremmin ennorath!"_

Harry froze at the words as he slowly translated them through his head.

 _Snow White! Snow White! O Lord clear!_

 _King beyond the Southern Land_

 _O Light to us that wander there_

 _Amid the world of woven trees!_

The child in Harry's lap clapped their hands together in excitement. All of their children hung off the words, some mouthing it as if they had heard it a thousand times over, and it _terrified_ Harry. Firenze's eyes had never left his.

" _A Wyrdfod Raw_

 _I chîn a thûl lin míriel_

 _Fanuilos le linnathon_

 _Ne ndor haer thar i aearon,"_ Firenze purred, his voice smooth and long and rounded with his accent. Harry frowned as some of the words began to sound even _older_.

He couldn't be sure what 'Wyrdfod Raw' meant but it sounded fantastical as if it couldn't be translated into the common tongue. The rest was easy enough. Words that the Dark Lord had deemed appropriate for him to learn.

 _Clear are thy eyes and bright is breath_

 _Snow White! Snow White! We sing to thee_

 _In a Far land beyond the sea._

And then another voice joined in with Firenze, flowing in a terribly beautiful harmony.

" _A elin na gaim eglerib_

 _Ned în ben-anor trerennin_

 _Si silivrin ne pherth 'waewib_

 _Cenim rovalug dosta dram,_ " Tonks and Firenze sang, their voices twisted together so well that Harry couldn't tell where Tonks' voice ended and where Firenze's voice began. Firenze was watching her now, with wide delighted eyes and Tonks closed her eyes.

Harry winced at the mention of his 'dragon's burning blow' and he gave up trying to translate as the Veela child in his lap began to hum the words, entranced with it all just as he was.

" _A Wyrdfod Raw_

 _Men echenim sí cordof derthiel_

 _Ne chaered hen nu 'aladhath_

 _Ngilith or haradren-dôr._ "

As soon as the song came to an end, the children burst into applause and the Veela child slipped from Harry's lap, bored with him already. Harry was frozen and he frowned at Firenze.

"Children, to your parents. Wyrdfod must speak to Firenze," Tonks prompted.

The children all made sounds of sorrow but they did as Tonks commanded, tottering off in a little pack. They were so resilient, Harry noted. There were few children at Crowmere Camp. But, the few that had been there had endured, refusing to break under human hands. Harry wished could be only as half as strong as them.

"Tell me. What does that... _word_ really mean?" Harry demanded.

Firenze regarded him for a long moment. "It is not easily translated. Not at all," Firenze said. "But, in our…religion, we have those called _Er-amarthan._ The Fated Ones. They are the ones that receive true names. Like Andromeda Empath. Andromeda _Cened_. Narcissa Godkiller. Narcissa _Dag-eru_. Harry Wildfyre. But, you...you are the Wyrdfod. Fateborn."

"How is that different from the others that have been born to fate?" Harry demanded and Firenze looked at him for a long time and cleared his throat.

"The Wyrdfod is a legend. The King, fair and beautiful, born out of violence and blood. A lion with flames at its claws that will meet the Snake. The Wyrdfod frees us from bondage and leads us to peace through war. _You_ are the Wyrdfod," Firenze said and he looked over at Tonks, his eyes alight with some sort of mischief that Harry didn't understand. "You didn't tell him?"

"You didn't tell me," Harry snapped.

Tonks cleared her throat. "Harry...my dear friend. There's a hell of a lot that I don't tell you. And I feel regret over most of it. But, not this," Tonks admitted.

"Why?" Harry demanded.

"Because," Tonks snapped. "You had to _earn_ this."

Harry paused and looked at Tonks with quiet eyes.

"Explain," Harry said, his voice softer this time and Tonks lifted her head and take a deep breath.

"Your titles are yours by blood. But, this...these people are a nation within a nation. Lost and betrayed for centuries. You had to _earn_ the title of Wyrdfod. And you have. Because you are good and kind and noble and strong," Tonks said and Firenze nodded in agreement.

The words weighed heavy on Harry's shoulders. More condemnation than praise, almost. And then Harry _did_ feel hands on his shoulder and a familiar weight against his back. Harry tipped his head back against the man's shoulder. Voldemort kneeled behind him, his hands settled on Harry's shoulders.

"You've called him Wyrdfod. He is Wyrdfod, then?" Voldemort asked.

"Of course he is," Tonks said, scornfully. "Who else would?"

Harry looked at Firenze again but, the centaur was watching Voldemort carefully. Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"What?" the Dark Lord demanded.

"I've never seen _Er-amarthan_ with as many names as the two of you. He, we may simply call _Wyrdfod_ and be done with it. But, you...âr-tan, rista-gwaedh, Daghai, Dagâr," Firenze drawled.

And Voldemort was on his feet, his wand pulled.

"Uncle—" Tonks started.

"I am no _Kinslayer_ ," Voldemort hissed.

Firenze's lips curled into a smile. "The stars do not lie, my Lord. The blood your kin will dry beneath your fingernails. It is written."

Harry stood up immediately, grabbing for Voldemort's hand. "Please, don't—"

Voldemort tore his hands away and shook his head, stowing his wand away. He turned to Tonks and cleared his throat. "We need to drill the troops. We need to know how much they're currently capable of besides enduring torture."

"Aye," Tonks said, firmly. She stood and walked past Harry, squeezing his shoulder once before she took off at Voldemort's side.

Harry turned on Firenze. "Why...why did you do that?" he demanded.

"I didn't mean to upset your lover, Wyrdfod," Firenze said, ignoring Harry's embarrassed sputtering. "I don't mean to upset him, I swear."

Harry knew that Firenze was telling the truth. He swallowed hard and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What did you...what did you call him?"

Firenze hummed. "Kingmaker. Oathbreaker. Kinslayer. Kingslayer," Firenze said and Harry blanched. Firenze shook his head. "Oh, Wyrdfod, you are not the only one of a thousand names, all of which are _true._ "

 **FAIREST**

"I'm leaving. And I'm not sure when I'll be back."

Narcissa looked up from her scales. Slowly, she scooped the gold from the plates and slid it back into one of the large velvet sacks on her desk. Narcissa's lips curled into a slow smile and she leaned back in her chair, her eyebrow raised as she regarded her husband.

"And you've come for a last fuck, my love?" Narcissa teased and she slowly stood, adjusted the neckline of her gown, showing off the soft pale swell of her breasts. Lucius didn't smile.

"No. I'm leaving _you_ ," Lucius whispered.

Narcissa's smile slid away.

There was a long moment of silence between them when they only stared at each other. Narcissa's face went through evolutions, calm to rage to terror back to rage again. Her rage had never burned hot. It was cold.

"I'm your lady wife. We've been married for longer than two decades, Lucius Malfoy," she said, like that mattered. Like that had ever mattered to her. "My brother set up our engagement. You are my _husband._ "

"My Lord has asked my presence somewhere else. And I don't _want_ you anymore. Not after what you've become," Lucius said sharply. "Not after what you've made my son into."

"Fuck you!" Narcissa snarled and Lucius winced at that. He didn't think he'd ever heard her use that word. "I loved you, Lucius Malfoy. I begged my brother to let you marry me. And you want to...you want to throw me _away?_ "

Lucius closed his eyes for a long moment, breathing deep through his nose. When he opened his eyes again, Narcissa was standing, trembling with the repression of her fury.

"You're a crazy cunt that made my boy a monster," Lucius snapped.

Narcissa scoffed. "I'm the _cunt_ you married. The only time you liked yourself what when you were trying to be someone this _cunt_ might like that. I'm not letting you go. I'm that cunt. I've killed for you. I've done terrible things for all of us!"

And the way she said it made it seem like it had all been for them and not for herself. As if it weren't all for the broken little girl that Lucius hadn't known he was marrying—the broken little girl hiding, terrified, in Narcissa's mind.

"All we've ever done is hurt each other and pretend that we weren't," Lucius whispered.

"That's _marriage_."

Lucius paused and his eyes flashed.

"I pledged myself to the Dark Lord. I intend to honor that pledge. He's released me from my vows to you," Lucius said, firmly and Narcissa stared at him for a long moment, as if she were seeing him for the first time. And, perhaps, she was. Perhaps, she saw all that could've been and all that wasn't.

It didn't matter to Lucius. It hadn't in a long time.

"And that will be treason," Narcissa said, softly.

"Treason?" Lucius laughed. He stood and turned away.

Narcissa frowned. "No one walks away from me," Narcissa hissed.

Lucius' eyes narrowed and he spun back around to look fully at his wife. Narcissa stared back at him. He imagined that she would look like a snake when he looked at her. Instead, she looked impossibly young—like when they had married. She hadn't been so cold then. It was before she had banished her father and Rowena, but after Lily had been sent away. She had been so afraid. He could see it in her eyes.

"I thought I loved you, once," Lucius admitted.

He had lept at the chance when Voldemort had proposed a match between them. Now, he was aching to run. Run all the way to Westeron.

"You would leave your son?" Narcissa demanded.

Lucius laughed, harsh and mean. "I think we both know he's _your_ son. You wouldn't even let him have my _name._ He is a Slytherin, through and through."

Narcissa slowly stepped around from her desk, her hands shaking as she approached him. Lucius knew that Narcissa was too unstable. She could strike any moment. He looked over her head and relaxed somewhat when he saw her wand on her desk. But, he didn't underestimate her. She could Summon it easily. Instead, she reached up and cupped his face.

Her hands felt like ice.

"No one walks away from me," Narcissa repeated, her voice soft. And Lucius knew that so _many_ had turned away from her. So many had left her, again and again, and perhaps that was why she was so broken that she had turned herself to ice.

But, it was her choices that mattered, then. No one else's.

"I am," he said, softly, and he walked away, fully expecting the green bolt of magic. It didn't come. Lucius glanced over his shoulder.

Narcissa sank to her knees, her lips parted, and her eyes _terrified_.

Lucius was a coward. He could not turn around and pull her close. He could not whisper his forgiveness into her ear. A better man could. But, he couldn't. He couldn't forgive the rage and pain that had twisted their son into a monster. He could not forgive the war and devastation. He could not forgive the terrible beauty that had made him want to stay in the first place.

So, Lucius continued to walk.

And she mouthed, over and over again, _They all walk away from me._

He didn't look back again.

 **OF THEM**

Harry sunk deeper into his large basin, dragging his hands through the oils infused water. He'd never had luxurious baths before. Most often, he would bathe in the river a while away from Little Whinging in the dead of the night to avoid anyone peeping on him or in Petunia's room, to avoid Dudley's friends staring at him, though often they would try.

But, even at war, he was being better-treated than he had been in his entire life.

Harry stiffened when he heard the clearing of a man's throat outside of his tent.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Me."

Harry's lips curled into a playful smirk. Slowly, he lifted a foot out of the basin, extending his leg and slowly dragged his sponge down his calf.

"Come in, then!"

The tent flaps swung open and Harry didn't have to turn around to know that Voldemort had paused. He imagined the way the man's nostrils would flare, the way his pupils would dilate. The way the man would lick his lips as if all he wanted to do was eat Harry alive.

"You could've told me you were bathing," Voldemort began.

"Does it bother you, my Lord?" Harry taunted as Voldemort walked around the basin to stare him in the face. The man's eyes consumed him, watching everywhere.

"No," Voldemort allowed.

"Good," Harry scoffed. He leaned forward, eyes full of challenge. "You're filthy."

It wasn't a lie. The man was covered in sweat, just as Harry had been. There had been sparring, training, and everything in between. Freia had been rather messy at dinner, as well, showering them both in the stench of sheep's blood. Harry's robes had been put in the wash immediately, and he was on his second bath, one to relax rather than clean.

"And?" Voldemort demanded.

"Bathe with me. Unless you're afraid," Harry said.

Voldemort scoffed, refusing to dignify his words with an answer as he swiftly began to disrobe. Harry's eyes widened as his challenge was met, and he grinned, his cheeks flushed pink. The Dark Lord let his robe drop to the ground and he pushed his trousers over powerful muscular thighs, revealing the thatch of hair and his ample cock.

Well, Harry had missed _that_ view.

"I'm feeling rather objectified," Voldemort said, loftily.

Harry smirked. "Welcome to the party. Now, come. Bathe. It's large enough for both of us."

Also, not a lie. Voldemort stepped into the steaming hot water and slowly sank down. Harry pulled his legs against his chest and Voldemort unfurled, his long legs brushing against Harry's thighs.

"So, you are the Wyrdfod," Voldemort hummed. "Aye, you are."

"And you are...many things," Harry started, nervously. They would talk about Firenze's words. It was inevitable.

"For 17 years, I've seen that look on face after face," Voldemort said, softly as he lounged in the bath, his arms perched on the sides of the enormous basin.

"What look?" Harry whispered, his voice cracking nervously.

"You were finally scared of me," Voldemort hissed, almost taunting. "Of all the names that he called an honorless man like me. Kingmaker. Oathbreaker. Kinslayer. Kingslayer."

Harry swallowed hard at the names. He had heard all of them. Voldemort didn't look regretful, his cheeks pink from the heat of the water. Harry barely reacted to the water, reveling in the tepid heat and he cleared his throat.

"Tell me."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow as he ducked forward, cupping water in his broad hands and splashing his face and hair. When he emerged, he asked, "Tell you what?"

"Tell me about each name," Harry said, quietly.

Voldemort hesitated for a long moment before he nodded.

"The first. Kingmaker," Voldemort murmured softly. Harry scooted forward, pulling his knees to his chest as he regarded Voldemort with hesitation. "When I came of age, a Seer came to me as it comes to every royal child, with the exception of yourself. The Seer came to me and my sister before all of the court and gave us our names. And she was called Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer and the Seer spoke power into her. Spoke of blood and water and womb and everything. _You are the Chaos-Bringer, child, fair of face. Reflections lie, and reflections reveal. Then, you shall know what is real; it shall end in fire and steel_."

He said it so gently, as if he were speaking a nursery rhyme and not a prophecy that spelled someone's doom, or rather, becoming. Bellatrix had become Queen through the fire that crafted the Gilded Throne. She had stolen it through steel and the empire's fate had been sealed. Harry shivered and was glad that he had never received a coming of age prophecy.

"And you?" Harry prompted.

Voldemort hummed. "I was hailed as the Kingmaker. _Son of snakes, child of ice and mirrors. You shall be the destroyer of kingdoms and the creator of empires._ I was always destined to fashion rulers, never be the ruler, and that suited my purposes well."

Harry swallowed as he looked at the man. Voldemort was a beautiful man but, he operated best in the shadows, free of expectation and the public's control. Bellatrix had not been well-loved but, there hadn't been an outright rebellion during her seventeen-year long reign for a reason. The man before Harry was the reason. The man that would make _him_ king. The man that had crowned him.

Harry wondered if Voldemort had crowned Bellatrix too.

"Oathbreaker. Kinslayer," Harry said.

He knew the two titles went hand in hand.

"I am no Kinslayer," Voldemort growled, splashing the water. "But, I am an Oathbreaker."

"Tell me. Tom," Harry said, whispering his name.

Voldemort didn't seem to hear him.

"I have made oaths to every single one of my sisters and I have broken each and every one. To Narcissa...I promised her a throne in exchange for the blood and bones of her best friend. I had no intention of carrying through and when she realized...it was too late, I suppose. I have made her what she is," Voldemort confessed and Harry knew that this would be the price for demanding all of Voldemort.

He would hear his sins too and would absolve the ones he could.

"You are not her. She _made_ her choices," Harry said, firmly.

Voldemort scoffed. "And Andromeda...I promised her happiness. And all that I have brought her is grief and strife. I swore to protect our blood, and I've done nothing of the sort."

"And yet, she is welcoming you back. Everyone makes mistakes—"

"Bella." And with that one name, Harry fell silent. Voldemort looked rather far away in that moment. " _Promise me, Tom. Promise that I won't die. Promise me._ And I promised. She is ash and dust now. My sister. The one I knew before I knew myself. Ash and dust."

"That was _Narcissa_ ," Harry said furiously, reaching for Voldemort's hands. He grabbed them and squeezed tight, forcing the man to look at him. "Narcissa did all of it. Perhaps your actions were the catalyst but—"

"I would've ripped out your heart, Harry Potter," Voldemort snarled. Harry ripped his hands back in shock. "I would've torn your heart from your chest and eaten it whole. Do you understand that?"

Harry knew that the man was trying to terrify him. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "I know," Harry barked. "But, it's the one oath you won't break. You won't."

Voldemort didn't hesitate. "No, I won't."

Harry relaxed, releasing tension that he hadn't even known he held in his neck and shoulders. He leaned forward in the bath.

"And the final one? Kingslayer," Harry asked.

"Do you think that the Founders' time was peaceful, Harry Wildfyre? It wasn't," Voldemort said, shortly. "The Tabooed weren't universally despised. Not in the least. They had support amongst the Houses. They _did._ Houses that no longer exist. The Good King Godric was obsessed once he took his throne. I was the strongest. My father thought it best to send me. Sweetling, I have been the executioner far longer than I was anything else. Godric saw traitors everywhere and they _were_ everywhere. Until they weren't."

Harry shivered. He leaned forward. "What did you _do_?" he whispered.

"He told me 'Kill them all'. 'Kill them in their homes. Blood them in their beds'," Voldemort said, his red gaze never wavering as he spoke about the Good King Godric Gryffindor. "I murdered men, women, and children. There were Muggle Houses once. They are no longer. Not after they had supported the Tabooed. Strongholds destroyed. History and bloodlines eradicated. _'Kill them all'_."

Harry's eyes welled with tears and his heart ached. _Kill them all._ His heart ached for the children that had been slaughtered in a godless war that had ended long before they had been thoughts. Children and mothers and fathers that had been murdered for believing in something different, for having prospered during a different era.

"And you killed them all," Harry murmured.

"Dark magic was the easiest way to end it but, dark magic takes it toll. It destroys beauty and youth. Bella and I were aging. But, Pandora found us. After Bellatrix and I slaughtered House Fawley, a house of half-bloods and squibs, in the middle of goblin country, she saw me in the ashes and she whispered the secrets of a mirror. Told us a way to escape our fate. So, we did," Voldemort said, leaning back in the bath and he looked at the horrified look on Harry's face. Voldemort scoffed, shaking his head. "I am not a good man but, I do the things I do for a good reason."

"My grandfather…"

Voldemort interrupted him, "My father stood by and watched as his two eldest were fashioned into weapons. The day I murdered your grandfather was the day I learned how to be a _real_ monster. Like _him_. 'Kill them all' he said to a boy that swallowed a snake's heart. So, I killed them all; I killed my monster and fashioned a throne as monstrous as we."

Harry stared at the man and wanted to weep. Instead, he reached forward, brushing suds from Tom's cheeks, wondering if some of the bathwater was really salt water. He couldn't imagine Tom crying.

And that didn't make it okay. None of it was okay. If Harry had been in Voldemort's position, he would've fought. He would've said _no_. Harry would've said no, and would've died before he had hurt innocent people. None of Voldemort's words were an excuse for the devastation that he had caused. All of the terrible things that he had done—the murder, the war, the terror—but, it was the truth. It was his truth, and Harry didn't think that Voldemort— _Tom_ had ever really told his truth before.

Tom had looked him in the eye and told him his truth.

Tom, who Harry wanted more than anything. Tom, who Harry _needed_ more than anyone.

"Tom... _Tom_ ," Harry whispered softly.

"Why are you saying my name?" Tom rasped under Harry's touch.

Harry swallowed. "It's the only name that matters to _me._ "

"Harry—"

"I want you," Harry said, slowly moving forward through the water, suds, and water dripping down the hard planes of his body. Tom's eyes followed the streams of water, the way the water sloshed over the sides of the bathtub. "I want to be with you."

"You don't know me," Tom drawled. He didn't move as Harry crawled between his legs through the water. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Don't give me that. You've just told me your names. I know you, Tom Marvolo," Harry said, softly and he cleared his throat. "I want to be with you. And you want to be with me. So, be with me."

"Your followers won't like this. They've only just learned how to tolerate me," Tom said, softly. Even as he spoke Harry rubbed his cheek against his neck. "We've fucked—"

Harry pulled back, cupping his face. "Oh my dear tragedy, I don't want to just fuck. I want to be with you. _Inwi nwaly ten'ke_."

"Do you even know what that means?" Tom barked.

And Harry whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of Tom's ear, "I _ache_ for you."

Tom hesitated for only have a second before he pulled Harry's face to his, pressing his lips to the King's in a desperate kiss. Harry shifted swiftly, the water sloshing over the sides of the tub, soaking and staining the rugs laid out on the floor of his tent. His hands slipped over Tom's slippery skin, down his broad shoulders. He dug his nails into Tom's skin. The Dark Lord groaned into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, licking into Harry's mouth.

They only pulled back to breathe and Harry's heart ached at the look on Tom's face.

Tom looked younger than Harry had ever seen him. His face was open and soft, his lips gently parted and swollen. Vulnerable. Harry's lips pulled into a soft smile.

"I want you," Tom said, as quiet as a confession.

"You have me," Harry promised.

Tom stood immediately, dragging Harry from the tub. Harry couldn't keep his hands off, pressing himself close to Tom's back, his cock brushing against Tom's ass and the back of his thighs. Tom spun around again as they reached the edge of Harry's bed. His eyes roved over Harry, as if he couldn't believe the sight before him.

"You are so…" Tom's voice dropped off and then he sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling Harry into his lap. Harry straddled the man's thighs, cupping Tom's jaw and the back of his neck.

Harry brushed their noses together, unwilling to tear his green eyes from Tom's red orbs.

"What am I?" Harry whispered.

"Too many things. Extraordinary. Powerful. Gorgeous. Terrifying," Tom murmured. "You are so beautiful, I am afraid to look at you."

Harry hummed and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Tom's mouth. Tom's hands wandered from his waist to his ass, squeezing tightly. Harry gasped as Tom rocked up against him, their cocks pressed together. Harry was already hard, his sex pulsing gently with pleasure. Harry dragged his fingers through Tom's hair, down the nape of his neck, his back, leaving traces of him everywhere. He pulled away from Tom's mouth, whining softly.

"Tell me...tell me what you are?" Tom gasped against his mouth.

Harry quivered under the weight of Tom's stare and buried his face in the man's neck. He left soft, bruising kisses that made Tom rock up against him harder. Harry mewled, wrapping his legs around Tom's waist and ground down.

Suddenly, the world twisted and Harry's back hit the soft mattress.

Harry gasped as Tom pulled him close, slowly pressing him down to his sheets. Harry didn't mind how damp his sheets were as he reached up, running his hands up the man's chest, over his shoulders, clinging to him.

"Please...please," Harry whispered.

Tom hushed him, gently, nodding as he rolled his pelvis between Harry's thighs. Harry gasped, wrapping his legs around the back of Tom's thighs, clinging tighter to him. He kissed him, desperately, licking into his mouth, tasting Tom, trying to memorize the ridges of his mouth and the taste buds on his tongue. He wanted to know all of him and never forget a single line of him.

Tom pulled away and kissed Harry's jaw and neck and groaned.

"Harry...sweetling," Tom breathed into the skin behind Harry's ear. "Tell me. Are you beautiful?"

"No," Harry whispered. "I am not merely beautiful. I am _extraordinary_. I am powerful. I am terror."

And Tom grinned.

Harry threw his hand out and his magic responded, sending a small vial of bath oils into his hand. He struggled to open it as he continued to kiss Tom's shoulder, his thighs tight around the man's waist. The cork fell away and oil spilled all over Harry's chest and fingers. Harry whined as Tom dipped his head to kiss at his chest, his tongue flicking over hard nipples.

"Wait, wait," Harry urged, pulling Tom's mouth back to his as he reached lower, tugging gently at Tom's cock. Tom moaned into his mouth. Harry's hand slipped lower until oil-soaked fingers brushed against his own entrance and slowly he slid a finger in.

His breath hitched and Tom looked down, eyes wide.

"Are you… _fingering_ yourself?" Tom hissed.

"Y-yes. I...like it," Harry admitted, his cheeks flushed with arousal as he slid a second one in, rocking against the stretch of his fingers. Tom fell back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair.

"Can I watch?" Tom murmured.

Harry snorted. "You are a pervert," he accused though he didn't deny Tom's request. He spread his legs wider and grabbed a pillow with unoccupied hand, lifting his hips for just a moment to settle himself. He slid two fingers in and threw his head back and let out a shuddering moan. "T-Tom."

"Fuck," Tom breathed, his fingers tracking the way Harry scissored his fingers, stretching his hole taut and slowly sinking in a third. "Just... _fuck._ "

"I'm not going to ask again, Tom. Fuck me?" Harry breathed as he began to rock against his fingers, attempting to ride them faster than he could move them. The world was so slow and his fingers slowed and then stopped. He slowly pulled them out even though the empty aching turn his stomach. He reached out. "Tom. Tom, I _want_ you. Do you want me?"

"Gods, yes. I've wanted you from the moment I saw you," he confessed and then Tom stopped, as if he was terrified that he was too vulnerable, that Harry could see him stripped down bare to his soul. Harry reached out and grabbed his hand.

"You think too much. Feel me," Harry murmured and then he tugged Tom forward until the man was hovering over him, supporting himself on one hand.

Harry refused to tear his eyes away from that red gaze. In that moment, the red didn't remind him of blood or rust or war. They reminded him of flames and rubies and changing leaves. It reminded him of autumn. They had met on an autumn day.

Harry gasped when Tom entered him. It was a milder stretch than the first time but, it was still warm and hard, unyielding where his fingers had been. Harry's hands scrambled along Tom's back, his fingernails pressing hard against his shoulder blades.

"You feel…Harry…" Tom breathed in his ear.

"Shhhh," Harry murmured. "Just...just _feel._ "

Tom hummed and then they were moving together. And it felt no different from when they paused while training, Harry pinned underneath him, or Harry backing Tom up against a tree. The intimacy that overwhelmed him, and made Harry's head spin. Harry looped an arm around Tom's neck and brought him down until he could crush their lips together. Harry lost himself in the rhythm of it, of the way Tom's lip felt between his, the feeling of their tongues scraping together.

The way Tom tasted.

The way Tom felt inside of him.

Tom reached down and hoisted Harry's thigh high on his waist and Harry followed suit, wrapping his legs around Tom's middle as he raked his hand through the man's hair, massaging his scalp. Tom looked down at him with bright red eyes full of all of the things he was too proud or too terrified to say aloud.

And Harry only smiled.

He pulled him down and kissed him for a million years and Tom kissed him back, one hand buried in Harry's hair as he rocked into him over and over again, moans spilling into Harry's mouth. Harry could taste them all his tongue and he reached one hand down as the heat built low in his belly. He wrapped his fingers around his cock and slowly pulled and twisted in time with Tom's thrusts. His muffled noises turned to high-pitched groans and Tom moved faster, kissing sloppily down his jawline and neck, sucking bruises into snow white skin.

"Cum, Harry" Tom hissed against the hollow of his collarbone. "Cum for me."

"Kiss me," Harry demanded back and Tom kissed him hard, bruising his lips burgundy. And Harry's vision turned white as he gasped through his orgasm, spending on his belly. Tom groaned into his mouth, thrusting faster and faster until he gasped into Harry's mouth.

Harry felt that wet heat that he hadn't exactly missed. Tom hovered for just a second and then he rolled over, falling onto his back. Harry hummed, staring up at the draped folds of the tent ceiling. He listened to the crackling in the fireplace and he twitched his hand lazily. The flames dimmed.

"You're too much," Tom said, his voice cracking with hoarseness. He reached for his wand and gave a lazy flick. Harry winced at the feeling of his skin as the drying cum Vanished. His skin felt tight and new. "You're too much for me, Harry Wildfyre. You'll ruin me."

"Shut up," Harry muttered and he turned on his side, pressing his face deeper into the pillows. Without looking up, he reached a hand out and he felt the mattress shift underneath him at Tom rolled closer until their naked bodies were aligned, Tom's spent dick pressed against the small of his back.

It wasn't sexual now but, it was _intimate._

"You want me to hold you," Tom breathed in his ear, teasing.

"I thought I terrified you," Harry grumbled, exhausted.

Tom laughed, softly, and wrapped his arm around Harry's middle, pulling him even tighter against his body and then he reached down to pull the covers over them. Harry hummed at the warmth, slowly becoming more content.

"You do, Harry Wildfyre. You do," Tom murmured as he slid his other arm underneath Harry's body until Harry was completely wrapped up in him.

"You can't leave me. Promise me, Tom," Harry whispered, his eyes closed. Tom's arms tightened around the King and Tom buried his nose in Harry's hair. "You can't leave me. Until the world turns to ashes. Don't leave me alone. Promise me, Tom. Promise."

"I swear."

 **ALL?**

Harry stared ahead at the great castle that was Westeron. It looked just as he imagined it.

The white cliffs looked scraped by centuries of age, and the stone of the castle crawled down its sides, eating the edge whole. There was something distinctly _magical_ about this castle, just as Godric's Hollow had felt. Harry looked overhead as Freia shrieked, finally allowed to fly. She circled Westeron and Harry knew she felt it too.

Harry led them forward, walking up the sloped mountainside, his eyes on Westeron. It loomed in front of him, daunting and purposeful. Harry jerked away, suddenly overwhelmed by nerves. Instead, he walked towards the edges of the cliff, glancing over his shoulder at the army of creatures that followed him. They always watched him, with awe in their eyes. With expectation.

He walked with purpose, his red battle robes swinging around him. He ignored the way the refugees and the creatures that had followed him bowed. Instead, he stood on the cliffs and stared out across the Narrow Sea.

This was his. This was his _birthright._

Harry had never had anything to call his own but, Westeron belonged to him. It was the place his mother had been born. Helga Hufflepuff had intended to give it to her when she passed. In another life, a Slytherin child and Lily Gryffindor would've ruled side by side. But, that was another life and all Harry had was that life. The life where Westeron belonged to _him._

Harry turned away from the cliffs.

He looked up at the great stone fortress of Westeron, the city surrounding it beckoning towards him. Slowly, he approached. His party stayed just far enough away. They knew—even Tom knew—that this moment belonged to him.

Harry walked towards the mouth of the city, and he saw that the structures that they had raised so far paled in comparison to the only one that mattered. Standing, taller than any other structure was a wooden pole, several stories up and waving from it was the flag of Gryffindor. Harry's lips curled into a small smile as he took a step into the city that he had made possible.

Harry paused when he saw the people that peered out of the windows in both fear and awe. Harry slowly walked through the unnamed city, his eyes only on the steps that reached far about the city that led into Westeron. Harry continued on his journey forward as the people watched, falling to their knees in worship. As he walked past, every single person—man, woman, and child—fell to their knees as if he were divine.

The King of Albion continued through the city and when he reached the steps, he saw the Weasleys, standing in a straight line. Madame McGonagall, Moody, and Fendwick waited just a few steps up. Ginny stepped forward. She didn't say a word, only crossed her wand over her chest and fell on one knee, parting them. Her brothers followed in step, all swearing their wands to Harry. Harry brushed his hand over Ginny's shoulder, squeezing hard in acknowledgment. She grabbed his hand and squeezed back.

And then Harry let her go, moving forward up the stairs. He stopped before the trio of elders. McGonagall stared at him for a long moment, as if she were searching for something. Harry never broke their gaze, staring back into the abyss. And then, McGonagall nodded and stepped to the side.

Harry didn't continue his journey up the steps to Westeron. He hesitated, staring down at his feet. He wouldn't look back but, he couldn't seem to move forward. A great shadow passed over his head, wings outstretched and he heard Freia's shriek. He looked up as she flew, circling one old tower and landed on the roof. She arched her neck and let out a roar of flames. Harry's lips pulled into a smile and he continued on.

It felt like seconds and ages before he reached the top of the steps and the doors, nearly two stories tall swung open for him. He looked into the Entrance Hall and the large stone staircases that curled upwards in circles. But, Harry had no mind for that. Instead, he moved forward, straight through the middle, pushing through a second set of doors.

He stopped in the doorway of the grand Hall of Westeron.

The walls were tall with windows running from ceiling to the floor, decorated with banners Hufflepuff yellow and a curled badger. Harry's lips curled into a smile as he walked up the mustard yellow runner, approaching the dais where an onyx chair sat, narrow and upright.

"Welcome, King Harry Wildfyre," Andromeda said, from the left of the chair. She held her hand out towards the throne. "Welcome, King in the West."

Harry approached the chair, running his hands up the solid onyx. It still felt warm. Harry pulled away and looked past it to the small open door. He continued through it and stopped in the doorway as he looked at the men and woman that stood around the half-circle. He knew what this room was, just as he had recognized the similar room in the Hollow.

Harry stepped forward and looked around at the council table. The seat dead center waited for him. The seats on either side of him were empty, and Tonks and Tom stepped around him, going to assume their own seats. McGonagall sat next to Tom, Ron standing just behind her chair. Ginny sat next to Tonks, looking rather solemn. Kingsley went to sit next to McGonagall and Bill say next to Ginny. Harry tore his eyes away and looked at the enormous map before them, shaped like the continent.

Harry raised his wand and the map glowed, river and mountains and castles and pieces growing forth and Harry slowly walked around the council arc, never tearing his eyes away as Hogwarts jutted from the middle, proud and terrible and truly all his. He glanced at the mark of Godric's Hollow, a red little banner waving from it. Harry's gaze was drawn to Hogwarts again.

Andromeda stood in the doorway, a man—most probably, Regulus Black—stood behind her, watching him with shrewd eyes. Harry turned his eyes back to the table.

This was not just a council anymore. This was a _war_ council.

"Shall we begin?"

:::

 **A/N:** Well, then. Here it is. I don't have much to say. Just...Harry and Tom did the deed. Again. And this time, that's sticking.

As this is chapter twenty, that means we only have six more chapters until the climax of this arc. So, things are going to start happening, very, very fast. I'm going to level with you all now: though this will still be vaguely GoT-esque, a lot of it is going to kinda go away after the next chapter as we move into the end of this arc and the third arc, as I need to wrap up the fairytale endings. And I'm going to warn you that some character death is going to happen. Major or minor, I'll never tell, but it's going to happen. Now, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

I really, really, really hope y'all leave reviews. Even small ones. They're so, so encouraging. So please, please, please, tell me you like it. I'm a writer. All writers are narcissistic as fuck and need validation. I'm just one of many.

Until next time!


	25. Chapter Twenty-One

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twenty-One

A group of warriors waited on the shores. Cedric's eyes streamed from the salt-laden air and the water that splashed in the faces, crashing against the white shores of Afallon. He looked towards the group. It was a mixture of Muggle, wizarding, and creature but, all looked fearsome in their own way. Their leader seemed to be a tall blonde centaur, draped in fine leathers.

"The Prince and Princess of Alfheim and his Adored Ones. Welcome to Albion," the centaur said.

Cedric jumped out of the rowboat and nodded. He offered his hand to Cho and she grabbed it, her nose wrinkling as she stomped through sloshing water, soaking her leathers and robes.

"Thank you. And your name, Sir?" Cedric asked, awkwardly.

"I am Firenze, one of the King's advisors. The King knows this was a long journey. He appreciates the effort made on his behalf," Firenze said and he looked around the other warriors that stood, watching Cedric, Cho, and the Adored Ones with the wariness of men and women at war.

Two looked particularly suspicious, a young man dressed with a strange austerity, black hair waving to his shoulder and an older man with a large hooked nose and a curtain of black hair to his shoulders. Cedric thought back to the dossier that they kept on the ship—the older man must be Severus Snape, a Death Eater. Amelia had said the man was distinct in appearance.

"We'll need your weapons," Severus Snape said, impatiently.

Justin made an aborted sound of protest in the back of his throat that was silenced Hannah's well-placed elbow between his ribs.

"Of course," Cedric said, as pleasantly as he could despite the tense silence. He felt Cho squeeze tightly at his hand but he ignored it. "Will we be allowed to keep our wands?"

"For now," Firenze allowed with a small smile.

That was foreboding. Cedric handed over his blade and gave a pointed look to his Adored Ones. All hesitant, they passed their steel and bows to the soldiers that waited, their arms held out. Cedric looked at their robes. Most of them had the red emblem of the phoenix on their breasts. So, Order members. Not just ordinary soldiers. Even more foreboding.

"Your Highness—" Firenze began.

"Please. Cedric," Cedric insisted. Cho elbowed him in the stomach but, Cedric ignored her.

"Of course. Cedric. Please, this way," Firenze insisted and Cedric had nowhere to go but up. He allowed Firenze to lead them around the long cliffs, up to a narrow set of stairs carved into the cliffside. Cho clung to his side as they began to ascend, his Adored Ones at his back, and the Order members rounding out their 'escort'.

"O-oh...it's beautiful," Cho murmured as they walked past the cliffs and around, and they could finally see Westeron in all its glory, attached to the white cliffs Cho had admired when they had approached.

"It is, isn't it?" Firenze murmured with a smile. He curled to the right where the staircase parted in two and they ascended more and more, silent as the crash of the waves were so loud they wouldn't be able to hear on another anyway.

They finally walked onto the flat ground after another five minutes in a tense silence.

Cedric's eyes widened as he saw what occupied most of the flat ground to the front of Westeron. A sprawling city rested at its foundation, nearly covered by Westeron's shadow. And surrounding the city was a camp of thousands. Cedric gasped as he saw centaurs training, bows in hand, trolls and Veela clashing together with steel. Banshees shrieking and witches and wizards all training in tandem with Muggles.

"That is...there must be at least 5000 creatures," Anthony breathed as he walked to Cedric's right, covering him and Firenze smiled down at them.

"And growing. We thought that the King would only be at 5000 for his army. But, once the people heard who he was...what he was _capable_ of, they came, like sheep flock to the shepherd. The King turns few away," Firenze said and he tilted his head, curiously. "Once you join to our cause, we will easily be a match for Draco's army."

Cedric winced, shifting nervously as he was reminded once more of why he had come to this foreign land.

"And they are all properly trained?" Justin demanded.

"Not quite," Snape said, maliciously.

The Alfheimeans stared at the strange man but, he barely looked at them, instead parting away to walk through the sea of trainees. Firenze continued to lead them through the military camp, and Cedric did his best to ignore the stares from all the creatures that Cho had only read to him about but, he had never actually _seen._

"Severus is correct," Firenze admitted. "But, we have experts training them."

"Who?" Anthony barked. "We will not fight with untrained children."

"The Lestranges. Severus Snape. Lucius Malfoy."

Death Eaters. Well, that would do it. All men that had been trained by the man that was allegedly the most powerful man in the world.

"And the Dark Lord?" Cho whispered.

"He only trains the Wyrdfod. I mean, the King," Firenze corrected himself. "He only makes Kings. So he will only train Kings."

Cedric wasn't sure what to make of that but, he nodded as if he understood anyway. He wouldn't question the man who had destroyed two of the Founders of Light, Godric, and Helga. He was the man that had brought all of Albion to its knees.

"I see. Will the Dark Lord—"

And then, there was a loud screech, louder and more terrible than anything Cedric had ever heard before. He yanked Cho to the ground as a dark shadow loomed over them and he pulled his wand, frantic. He looked up to see a great winged creature, larger than even a house fly over his head. It's great reptilian wings stretched wide, long and leathery and spikes ran along its body, from the crown of its head down to the end of its long serpent-like tale.

"Dragon!" Anthony snarled. "There's a fucking _dragon!_ "

Cedric's blood was chilled and he looked around.

No one else had flinched, instead only staring up at the flying _beast_ in wonder, pointing and _smiling_ , like it wasn't the most dangerous creature that had roamed the fucking earth.

"What the _fuck_ was...there's a _dragon_? A wild dragon?" Cedric snarled, his blood boiling as he stood up. Cho shuddered, trembling with terror.

"No...dragons are _extinct_ ," Cho whispered, looking around at all of the madness.

"She is not wild. She is Freia," Firenze said, simply. He smiled wider. "She belongs to the King."

"He has a dragon?" Cho said, bewildered and Firenze nodded.

"Freia was born into his hands from a petrified egg that he warmed with his Fire," Firenze said and he sighed. "Now, the King is waiting for you."

 **MIRROR**

"The final lesson," Tonks whispered as Harry stood in his chambers, only in his smallclothes. She ignored the bruises on his neck, on his belly. He would tell her in time. Now, there were far more important things to worry about.

"The final one. They're on their way, Tonks. Come on," Harry said, impatiently when Tonks hesitated. His cheeks were slightly pink as she inspected his body but, he refused to apologize or explain. Not yet, anyway.

Harry stared at Tonks, ready for his final lesson. Tonks cleared her throat and waved her wand, Summoning the robes. Harry stared at them in awe. They were grand battle robes—light chainmail and dragon scales, dyed red for his sigil. Harry grinned and glanced at Hedwig. Hedwig was lost under the bed, chasing the rat that Tonks had brought for her. He felt Freia land rather than saw her, the ceiling rocking as she attached herself to the roof just above his head.

She would probably crawl down the side of the castle and attach herself to watch the proceedings through the window. Freia would always protect him.

"You once asked why I dressed like a whore. I will tell you now," Tonks said and Harry nodded, folding his hand in his laps, waiting for the woman's final words of wisdom.

"You said that it was because you seduced men's secrets from them," Harry said and Tonks nodded in agreement, her dark eyes flashing.

Tonks could see this man on the throne. He had killed the boy and this _man_ had been born. This man who knew what he desired, with ambition that was never-ending. Harry Wildfyre would not stop until he had the crown, but he could still learn. He was still a student in the ways of power and Tonks would teach him, though no one had been there to teach Tonks.

"Yes. But, to take secrets, you must have power. I _take_ power," Tonks said, sharply. "It is said that Narcissa of House Slytherin wears creams and rouges to war." Her voice was soft, as if she were telling a fairy story, the kinds that she had told Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasley brood when they were all still children in armor. "That is her mask, her power, and you shall have one too. You shall wear these robes and on your hip, a sword. They call you Fairest. This is your _mask_. Your cheeks are pale but, they will think your cheeks hollow with a hunger for power. Your lips redder than blood. Your eyes are green but, they are rimmed with darkness."

"You want them to fear me," Harry whispered, brow furrowed in confusion.

Tonks sat on the bed and she smiled when Hedwig bowled her way onto her lap, the little lioness cub.

"Power is a curious thing," Tonks insisted.

"It is," Harry whispered, leaning forward as Tonks stroked Hedwig, gently, cooing as the lioness cub mewled at her.

"Tell me, do you fancy riddles?" Tonks asked.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. Do you tell good ones?" he asked, hissing and purring at Freia. Freia hopped into his lap, making that shrieking baby sound that made him smile.

"Three great men sit in a room: a king, a priest, and a rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each great man bids the sellsword kill the other two. Who loves, who dies?" Tonks asked.

"Depends on the sellsword," Harry decided and Tonks smiled.

She raised her violet eyebrow. "Does it? He has neither crown, nor gold, nor favor with the gods."

"He has a sword, the power of life and death," Harry insisted.

"Ah...but if it's swordsmen who rule, why do we pretend kings hold all the power?" Tonks asked. Harry scoffed and frowned, turning away, cuddling Freia tighter to his chest. "Power resides where men believe it resides. It's a trick. A shadow on the wall. Just as the mask."

"So, my power does not exist, then? It's fake?" Harry demanded.

Tonks hummed. "Power is a _trick_. It is not something given or inherited. It is taken. The point, my friend, is that you will don these robes and you will demand it. They will know that you are Hadrian Wildfyre of House Potter and Gryffindor, the First of His Name, and you will _not_ be denied. Will you?"

And Harry thought about it. He thought about the terrible things he had endured throughout his life. He remembered blood, and that memory...that _day_ he had realized that beauty was a curse. Until it wasn't. Until…

"No. I will not. I am Harry Wildfyre. The Fairest of Them All. Beauty is terror," Harry whispered to himself and he didn't notice the way Tonks' eyes widened or the sharp inhale she gave as he stood and ran his fingers over the dragon scale. _Freia's_ scales.

"And what does that mean?" she asked, a prompt.

Harry looked up, a brightness to his eye. " _I_ am terror."

 **MIRROR**

Cho swallowed hard as the small party was led by the great centaur. The centaur, Firenze, looked behind him with a small smile and nodded.

"Don't be afraid," he said.

"Don't be afraid? He has a _dragon_ ," Ernie choked out, squeaking.

Cedric kept his face stern but Cho could feel the tension in the way he held her hand. She squeezed once, without looking away, and he squeezed back. Even terrified, Cho couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"We have to do this. Gringotts doesn't view us as stable just yet. If we get the support from the rightful king of Albion, we'll be able to strengthen our country. We can trade with them," Cho said, the logical one despite her terror. She looked around and only Hannah nodded.

Cho knew they would stay terrified. They were weaponless in Afallon, the West of the Alboin Empire. They were allying themselves with the one loyalists called Pretender. There was a dragon outside, and they had no idea what to expect or how to defend their prince and princess against two Slytherins and a man that was supposedly the most powerful person in Albion if he could rein in Slytherins. Firenze led them down the enormous Entrance Hall and slowly the doors creaked open.

And then, she saw him.

He was more beautiful than the letters had proclaimed him.

His face was calm, big green eyes set into them, his mouth red and plush. His hair was a messy black nest of curls. His skin was so pale as if the sun never touched him. He wore battle robes of dragon skin and chainmail, all dyed red. He didn't wear his House sigil. He didn't need it. After all, there was a great albino lioness that lounged in front of his feet.

Standing immediately to his left was the Dark Lord Voldemort. She knew it was him—from his handsome, strong jaw to his crimson war bright eyes. His black hair was slicked away from his face and he was completely covered in black, from his neck down. Even his hands were gloved and the sword that had slain thousands glinted maliciously on his hip.

A pink-haired woman cloaked in crimson stepped forward.

"You stand in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, the Wyrdfod, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Afallon, the Alpha of the Pride, and the Fairest-of-Them-All," the pink-haired woman declared, her chin held high.

The Fairest inclined his head, a slight smile on his face. Cedric cleared his throat, looking back at Justin. Justin stepped forward.

"This is Cedric Diggory. Prince of Alfheim," Justin choked out, mesmerized by the beautiful king.

And when he spoke, Cho was stricken.

"Thank you for traveling so far, your Highness. I hope the seas weren't too rough," he said. As he spoke, the lioness at his feet yawned, her great mouth opening wide enough to swallow a grown man. Cho shivered again.

"The winds were kind, your Grace," Cedric said, roughly. "We come to negotiate."

"I am the last Gryffindor. The last Potter. The Fairest of Them All. The rightful King-Emperor of Albion," the Fairest said. He leaned forward and the lioness stood, lazily, pacing in front of him. "You've come to pledge your aide, am I wrong?"

"Not quite, your Grace. We come to negotiate," Cedric repeated.

The Fairest tilted his head, as if he didn't understand his words. He looked up at the Dark Lord Voldemort but, Voldemort continued to stare forward, his crimson eyes boring into the Prince of Alfheim and his Adored Ones.

"What is there to negotiate? I have laid my terms, beast," Harry Wildfyre said, his words soft.

"Do not call him that," Cho snapped before she flinched back. The Fairest turned his green eyes onto her, his lips twitching into a slow smile of intrigue.

"No?" Harry Wildfyre asked.

"No," Cho said, firmly.

Harry Wildfyre leaned back in his throne. "Very well, Cho of Alfheim," he said. "Then...why are you here?"

"Because I need your help and you need mine," Cedric said.

Harry snorted. "Did you see the dragon flying overhead when you arrived on Westeron?" Harry Wildfyre asked. How could they have not? They still heard the beast's great shrieks. "And did you see the creatures? All of whom are sworn to _me_ and me alone. They call me Wyrdfod. Do you know what that means?"

"No, your Grace," Cedric said, stiffly.

"It means 'Fateborn'," the Fairest declared.

And Cho didn't know what that meant but, she knew it meant something. She saw it in the way Firenze shuddered at the word, his eyes closed in delight. The way the Dark Lord and the pink-haired woman watched him.

The Fairest smiled, and it was so beautiful. Cho felt a flash of hate.

"What do you want then, in exchange, for your men?" the Fairest asked.

Cho was silent. She glanced at Cedric but, he looked thoughtful, watching the Fairest with a look that Cho didn't like. It was considering and dangerous and he was going to do something reckless. Cho _knew_ her husband. He was always reckless, when it came to her, when it came to his people.

"Your Grace," Cho began, immediately, staring at the beautiful, beautiful man. The Fairest. "After assessing your numbers, we'd like to privately discuss this transaction at a later date. After we've spent some time here. After all, this is a war and though you are the rightful Heir, if you do not win, we will not damn our country. Not for you. Not when we don't know you."

And finally, the Fairest looked like something other than beautiful. He looked...in awe, his lips curling into a wide smile. He looked human.

"Of course. You're my guests. This was rather...forceful of me, I think. Tonks, my Lady of Whispers, will have you escorted to your rooms," the Fairest said. The pink-haired woman stepped forward and nodded at them. "Do treat her with respect. She is the daughter of the Lady of this fortress."

"Andromeda Slytherin?" Cedric gasped.

The Fairest winked and Anthony made a noise at the back of his throat.

"Aye. Nymphadora Tonks, Lady of House Slytherin at your service," the pink-haired woman drawled.

Susan frowned. "Your Grace, what about our weapons?"

"Were they taken?" the Fairest asked with a frown.

"We thought it prudent—" one of the witnesses began.

The Fairest stood, and suddenly, the lioness at his feet no longer looked lazy. She looked on edge, catching the older man in her gaze. The Fairest looked at the man—a man with one normal pale eye and the other large and bulging, a strange magical blue that stared deep into the Alfheimeans' cores.

"You do not think. _I_ think," the Fairest said, coldly. He turned back to the Alfheimeans. "You will get back all your steel. You are not my prisoners."

"Aren't you worried that we could...hurt you?" Anthony asked.

The Fairest laughed, warmer then. "Hurt me? My Lord, would you allow such a thing?" he asked, rolling his gaze onto the Dark Lord who had not spoken the entire time that Cho and the others had been there.

"No, your Grace. I don't think they'd get within ten meters of you," Voldemort smiled.

The Fairest smiled, wider. "Well, then, there's your answer. Now, I look forward to breaking bread with you tonight."

And the Fairest looked towards the Dark Lord for a moment before he let out a tiny sign that his lioness at his heel as he exited. The Dark Lord followed, at his shoulder, already whispering quietly in his ear. Cho watched the others, all with the phoenix symbol on the chest, follow him, silent and ever watchful, until only the pink-haired woman was left.

Tonks had a charming smile, the kind that drew men in. And, despite the oddity of her hair, she looked like a Slytherin, wild-eyed and self-assured to the point of arrogance. Cho didn't like her either.

"Well, then," Tonks said. "I'll show you to your rooms."

 **ON**

She curled into herself on the floor, muscles aching, her blind eyes sore. She struggled to get up again, coughing and collapsed to the ground again when Deyanira's staff cracked across her shoulder blades, knocking the strength air out of her weakened body.

"Get. Up," Deyanira barked.

Gabrielle struggled to her feet. She no longer cried out for Fenrir. He was there, she knew. He was always there, making sure it didn't go too far. It was too late for that now. Even though he tended to her wounds, when they were done for the day, Gabrielle felt resentment fester low in her belly for what he allowed his subordinate to do to her. This didn't feel like training.

It felt like torture.

"I'm up," Gabrielle rasped. Her throat was on fire and she was so thirsty, her lips were cracked and bloody, not only from punches to the face.

"A girl has no name. Do you have a name?" Deyanira asked.

Gabrielle hesitated for only a second, attempting to catch her breath. "No—" she got out before Deyanira whipped across the jaw with the end of her staff.

Another tooth cracked, falling out of her mouth.

" _Accio_ ," Fenrir murmured, Summoning the tooth.

He would reattach it later, as he was prone to do.

Gabrielle ran her tongue across the jagged edge and tasted blood. All she ever tasted was blood now. Gabrielle missed the taste of mead and the warmth of bread. Now all she had were a mouth of broken teeth and blood. Fenrir would wrap her wounds, dress her scars, but still, she'd remember the way the teeth cracked in her mouth and the way she cut her tongue open on the edges. Rage.

"A girl has no name," Gabrielle snarled.

Deyanira scoffed as she spun, aimed to fight.

Gabrielle had been fighting for so long. She had been wandering in darkness, blind for _weeks_. It felt like centuries. Millennia. And the dark was such a lonely place to be. She swept for her sister. She wept for herself. She wept for the child she had been, before she had married Fenrir and begged to learn. She had wanted to _learn._

Learn, she would. Learned, she had.

Learned what it meant to be stripped of personhood, of all identity, until you were nothing but the animal that the wizards and Muggles said that she was. She wasn't a person. She didn't love mead or fresh bread or pretty dresses or Albion culture. No. The people of Laug saw a Veela.

A creature.

An _animal._

And suddenly, it did not matter that Gabrielle could not see. It did not matter that all Gabrielle knew was sword in her hand. The only thing that mattered was that she could _feel_ Deyanira. She could feel the beating of her heart, could nearly taste the odd copper of her blood, she could almost breathe the same air as her.

"Who are you?" Deyanira snarled from Gabrielle's right.

Slowly, a girl turned, following the beating of Deyanira's heart, the vibrations of her steps.

"No One," a girl said, her voice cold.

"Is that true?" Deyanira taunted. "Gabrielle Delacour wanted to _kill_ me for taking her eyes. Gabrielle Greyback threatened me, screamed, and cried for _weeks_ for her eyes. Who are you?"

Deyanira spun into action before a girl could answer. A girl lifted her sword in a fierce block as she heard the whistle of Deyanira's staff through the air. She could feel the sharp intake of breath as Deyanira gasped. A girl imagined Deyanira's wicked dark eyes widened in shock. A girl knew that Fenrir had frozen in the doorway.

"A girl has no name," she said, warningly.

Deyanira snarled and spun, knocking a girl back. They began to spar, staff colliding with steel over and over again. A girl followed the whistles of the staff through the air, twisting and turning to avoid each heavy blow. A girl knew that Deyanira would not pull her punches now, if she ever had been. The woman was _angry_. A girl smiled. An angry Deyanira meant a sloppy Deyanira.

Deyanira caught her in the side with a slam of her staff and a punch in the head. A girl didn't let the hits disorient her, rolling with it so that she could keep her equilibrium. Instead, she focused all of her attention and pain on remembering the way Deyanira moved, the way Deyanira breathed.

A girl threw herself forward, twisting her hand around the staff and jerking it out so that she stepped into Deyanira's personal space. Before Deyanira could headbutt her, a girl twisted her sword and punched Deyanira in the mouth with the pommel. A girl could feel the blood smear against her fingers, along her steel and she threw her knee up, catching Deyanira in the stomach. A girl wouldn't give the woman time to recover. A girl wrenched the staff from Deyanira's strong grip and she spun, cracking the staff across the back of Deyanira's head.

She heard Deyanira's knees crack against the ground. She threw the staff as hard as she could.

A girl pulled her wand, holding it to Deyanira's temple while she pressed the edge of her steel to the woman's throat.

"Finally a girl is no one," Deyanira garbled.

And a girl shook her head.

"A girl is Gabrielle Delacour, daughter of Apolline and Louis Delacour, and you will give me my eyes back," she rasped.

Gabrielle tasted the blood on her tongue. She felt the ache in her bones. A few of her ribs were cracked, she had bitten her tongue so deep it would scar and she was cure that Deyanira had nearly cracked her head open but, she was not no one. She was _Gabrielle Delacour._

"Why do you deserve them back?" Deyanira snarled, choking around bile and blood.

And Gabrielle didn't know where the rage inside her came from. She did not know why she wanted to hiss and wail. She didn't know why she couldn't slit this woman's throat _open_ and let her bleed out.

"Because what do _you_ say to the Stranger, Death?" Gabrielle snarled. She pressed the blade deeper, and she could feel flesh giving way. She heard Fenrir approach and she didn't move. She let him cup her face and pull her head up.

"Not today," he whispered against her lips. Gabrielle let him kiss her. She didn't kiss back. He took a step back. "Enough, Deyanira. She is ready."

And he shuffled awkwardly before pulling something forward. He pressed glass against Gabrielle's lips and she tilted her head back, swallowing it without even thinking about it. She closed her eyes, refusing to remove the blade from Deyanira's throat. The first thing she thought was how gentle his hands fell against her. She wished that she didn't feel such rage. Such contempt.

"I love you, Fenrir," Gabrielle said, softly. She still didn't open her eyes.

She felt his breath hitch. "And I you, Miss Gabrielle."

"But, I will never forget this betrayal and I will never forgive you," Gabrielle whispered. Slowly, she opened her eyes and though, it was so bright, she was nearly blinded, she looked directly at him. She wanted him to be the first thing she would see. He looked different from how she remembered. He looked older and more animal. Had he always been so feral looking? "Betray me again, and I will kill you."

Fenrir watched her, his eyes strangely cold. They regarded one another for a long time, neither moving, neither backing down. Gabrielle saw her husband for what he was, the way Fleur had seen him from the very beginning.

Fenrir was a predator.

But, he wasn't the only one.

"You are far more powerful than I ever thought you would be," Fenrir said.

"Explain."

"I only wanted you to learn how to defend yourself. Nira saw potential that I did not. And you are...exquisite," Fenrir said and he looked down at his second-in-command, still kneeling. Gabrielle followed his gaze.

Deyanira's head was bowed, her neck pressing against the steel. Gabrielle only needed to twitch to slice the woman's throat open.

"Will you kill me, Gabrielle Delacour?" Deyanira asked. And then she tipped her head back, pressing the back of her head against Gabrielle's belly in a move that stunk of submission. "I am yours to kill."

Gabrielle's lips curled and she pulled her sword away from Deyanira's throat and watched her. Slowly, Gabrielle turned back to her husband and watched him with careful eyes.

"Fenrir...you are a werewolf," she said, blankly.

Fenrir only nodded. "How long have you know?" he asked.

And Gabrielle thought about that for a long time. She thought about the uneasiness that she had felt the first time she met him, the feral gleam in his eyes, the animal-like way he moved.

"Always," she said.

"Okay. I am the Alpha of the Laug Republic pack. It is why I am involved in government. I keep the werewolves under control and we are not hunted," Fenrir said, firmly, and that didn't explain Fenrir's past paramours or why he was so strict about not having Fleur or why he had allowed Deyanira to abuse him. But, it answered some things.

Gabrielle cleared her throat. "It's the new moon. Werewolves run on the new moon."

"Sometimes," Fenrir allowed.

" _You_ run on the full and new moon," Gabrielle corrected. "I'm coming with you."

"Alpha," Deyanira started, still on her knees. "She can't—"

Fenrir held up a finger to silence her. "We won't be changed. Why do you want to come?"

"I am not no one," Gabrielle said. "I am Gabrielle Delacour, your wife, the girl who runs with wolves."

 **THE**

Dinner was… _awkward._ To say the least. Cedric sat at the end of the long table, Cho to his right and the Adored Ones scattered along the table. On Cedric's left was Anthony and next to him was Madame McGonagall, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. Cedric looked up from his meal at the Fairest. He was laughing, softly, his lips pulled into a small smile as Tonks whispered in his ear. The Fairest reached down, holding out a piece of meat for the _lioness_ that lurked under the table.

The Dark Lord sat on the Fairest's other side, his meal sitting untouched.

"How do you like the food, your Highness?" the Fairest asked, finally looking up.

Nearly everyone at the table turned to look at Cedric. Cedric swallowed and lifted his spoon, tasting the overspiced soup again. He forced a smile.

"It's well-seasoned, your Grace," Cedric called.

"Harry," the Fairest corrected.

Cedric nearly dropped his spoon. "I'm sorry?"

"No one calls me 'your Grace' outside of formal functions. And we've already met. We're informal, now. You call me Harry," the Fairest—no, Harry—said and Cedric nodded, weakly. "And I mean all of you. Your lady wife and your Adored Ones, as well."

Cedric cleared his throat. "Okay, Harry. And you call me Cedric, then."

Harry smiled, brightly, and Anthony choked again. Cho looked up at her friend but Anthony looked like he'd been punched in the face.

"What is it?" Cho whispered.

"He's...well, fuck, look at 'im," Anthony said with a tilt of his head.

McGonagall's lips twitched and Anthony flushed when he realized she'd heard him.

"No reason to be embarrassed. He is beautiful. He's aware of it," McGonagall said. She leaned forward, taking a calm sip of her wine. "How couldn't he be?"

"It's a wonder that he hasn't a lover," Cho said.

There was a bark of laughter. Cho looked at the woman next to her. Lady Andromeda's eyes were wide with mischief.

"Who says he hasn't one?" Andromeda challenged with a grin. She looked down the table. "Brother, dear, I've noticed your room has been unused. Is it not to your tastes?"

Harry paused in his conversation. He didn't look at Andromeda but his cheeks flushed slightly and he hastily took a sip of wine before carefully setting his goblet down. He continued speaking quietly to Bill Weasley and Tonks, his voice too soft for Cho or Cedric to hear. Voldemort tore his gaze away from the King to sneer at his sister.

"Fuck off, Andromeda," the Dark Lord barked.

Cedric flinched. He'd never heard the Dark Lord speak and the first words he'd heard was 'fuck off'. How...unexpected.

Andromeda trembled with suppressed laughter. She looked back at Cedric and Cho and in that moment, Cedric saw how much she resembled the Dark Lord and her own daughter.

"My brother is a callous, terrible man but, the King sees a use for him," Andromeda sighed.

"Mother, kindly, resist," Tonks called without looking away from Harry. "We don't want blood on the freshly washed stone. Especially in front of guests."

Andromeda opened her mouth but, Harry straightened, clapping his hands. He cleared his throat, a tight smile on his face.

"I've been rude," Harry said, shortly. "You haven't been introduced. Well, you've met Tonks. My Lady of Whispers. This is William Weasley, Lord of House Prewett, my Lord of the Coin."

Bill Weasley raised his hand in awkward greeting. "Uh, hello."

Cedric nodded, weakly.

"His sister, Ginevra Weasley, Commander of the Archers." An annoyed looking redheaded woman with a mess of freckles clustered on her face. "Madame Minerva McGonagall, Commander of the Calvary." She nodded, deep in her cups with ever-increasing lines on her face. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Commander of the Infantry." A handsome dark-skinned man with a strange smile.

"And you know my brother," Andromeda interjected. "The Dark Lord."

"Lord Chancellor Voldemort," Harry said, primly, looking oddly stiff, his smile becoming more and more plastic.

Cedric sat silently until Cho stomped on his foot. Hard.

"You know my wife, Cho. This is Anthony—"

"I know who you all are," Harry said. Cedric flinched back, eyes wide. "Anthony Goldstein. Susan Bones. Hannah Abbott. Ernie Macmillan. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Michael Corner. Terry Boot. Dean Thomas."

He pointed to all of them, correctly. Susan's eyes widened.

"How did you... _know_ that?" she said, her voice growing more hostile by the second.

Cho looked ready to bury herself in her hands. Cedric could _feel_ the diplomatic incident approaching.

"I...is that odd?" Harry asked. "I...the Dark Lord has very good records. I know... _everything_ about all of you. And I...apologize for calling you a beast, Cedric. It was rude."

All of the Alfheimeans flinched.

"Harry…" Ginny hissed but, Harry ignored them, keeping his odd green eyes trained on Cedric.

"We don't...talk about that," Cho said, firmly.

Harry hummed. "Are you ashamed?" he asked.

Cedric flinched. Harry Wildfyre was strange, beautiful, and oddly perceptive. "I...this doesn't seem like appropriate dinner conversation," he said finally. It was what his father would have said, if he were there.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized again. "I didn't mean to...nevermind."

There was a long strained silence that was interrupted only by the clinking of forks against chinaware. Harry kept his eyes on his plates, his brow furrowed oddly as he seemed deep in thought. Cedric wondered what was happening in that pretty head. Even as he thought it, he felt a flash of guilt course through him and he looked at Cho from the corner of his eye. She looked oblivious, though still annoyed with Harry but, Cedric wasn't fooled.

Cho always knew.

"Your Grace, if you don't mind me asking but...you have a fair amount of young people on your council and characters that wouldn't exactly _encourage_ trust between our countries. Could you clarify your choice?" Cho asked, suddenly, her eyes cutting and Cedric winced.

Cho was proper. She wouldn't outright insult Harry Wildfyre but, she'd question him within an inch of his life. And still, even if the man took offense, she could cite the same reason as before—she wanted to 'know' him. Cedric nearly scoffed. It was recompense, a defense for Cedric's honor that was wholly unnecessary.

"You mean to say why would he make the Dark Lord his Lord Chancellor?" Voldemort said and Cho winced. She hadn't expected him to respond directly. "The man that murdered thousands, including his mother and father."

"Yes," Cedric inserted, grabbing Cho's hand under the table. She squeezed back in thanks for his solidarity. "My father wasn't your biggest fan, my Lord, and neither is the General of my army. Madame Amelia Bones."

"Madame Bones isn't a fan of me because the last time we met, I nearly killed her," Voldemort said, matter of factly. He ignored Susan's soft snarl. "But, that's no fault of mine. She challenged me when she had no place to do so, and I don't see why this line of questioning should be entertained."

The King still hadn't spoken, seemingly mulling over the words. Finally, he spoke. "Because Ginny Weasley never misses, and Kingsley Shacklebolt is wise beyond my years. Bill Weasley knows how to count far more than me, and Madame McGonagall has spilled blood in my name. And Tonks was a whore so she knows the secrets of whores. And Voldemort makes king, and I have been made, and he was there when the boy was killed, and the man was born."

He spoke it so matter of factly, as if he didn't know how mad he sounded. Tonks snorted into her meal but, didn't say anything.

Cedric glanced over at Cho, whose face was screwed into an expression of distaste. He looked over at Anthony, who looked absolutely _fascinated_.

They finished their meals in silence.

 **WALL**

"What do you think of him?" Cho asked.

Cedric looked around the room, all of the Adored Ones waiting for his answer.

"Who?" he asked, nervously.

Cho scoffed. "Really, Cedric?"

"He's beautiful," Anthony interjected. "Fairest of Them All. That certainly wasn't exaggerated. And he's got a dragon and the Dark Lord."

Susan snorted. "The Dark Lord...in his bed. If the Lady Warden's implications are to be heeded," Susan warned and Anthony scoffed at her. "I'm just saying...I doubt that the Dark Lord shares and I would hate to see you dead."

"I can—"

"Don't even joke," Justin interjected. "You can't beat Susan, who can't beat Amelia, who can't beat the Dark Lord. He'd kill you in a second flat. Remember what he said? Not even ten meters. The Fairest of Them All, indeed."

Hannah looked up from where she was mixing her healing salves, her eyes wide and waiting.

"Cedric...what do you think?"

"I think...that he's got a good heart. I think," Cedric added as an afterthought.

Cho wrinkled her nose "He's strange. A bit awkward. He was trying so hard for us to like him. He was callous breaking up the...hairy thing at dinner. And he threatened you, Cedric. He's dangerous. But, we have to...we have to consider helping him. For Alfheim."

"I'm not putting our soldiers in danger until I'm sure of him," Cedric said, warningly. "I'll play politics but, not that much. Not until I know we aren't fighting for just another Dark Lord in the making."

"He has all of these creatures loyal to him. The way Firenze, the centaur, spoke about him doesn't make him sound like a Slytherin. If you'd remember, Draco is a Slytherin, no matter _who_ his father is," Dean said, pointedly. He was always the one that spoke logic and it had Justin and Ernie nodding in agreement.

Anthony and Hannah still looked unsure but, Cho and Susan would be stubborn in their vehement dislike of the King.

"I heard he freed them all," Hannah said, full of uncertainty. She twitched when everyone turned to stare at her and she pressed closer into Susan's side, basking in the other woman's warmth. "At least...before dinner, I went into the city to look for supplies. For salves. And I spoke to the woman at the apothecary. The woman said that he freed all of the creatures. Draco Slytherin was enslaving them. He wanted to use them in his armies but, he freed them."

Cedric considered that and he understood why the creatures were staunch in their loyalty to the man.

"So, they just bind themselves to another master?" Susan snorted.

"Loyalty is won by kindness and I think he's a kind man with a good heart," Hannah insisted, softly, even as everyone stared at her, bewildered.

"Kind? We don't even know him," Anthony pointed out. Hannah winced at his irritation and Susan turned to her lover, grabbing her by the shoulders and looked her firmly in the eye.

"Albion can't take another Slytherin. _The world_ can't take another Slytherin," Susan murmured.

There was a long painful silence. Dinner with three Slytherins had been odd, to say the least. It had been threatening at the most. Andromeda Slytherin had been snide to her brother, almost like Susan would act towards Anthony or Justin, or even Dean, but, Susan didn't radiate the same power that Andromeda did. Andromeda looked at them as if she knew their every thought, and it reminded him of what Amelia had called the woman, but hadn't explained. Andromeda Empath.

"He's not like me and mine."

The Adored Ones were alert immediately. Even Hannah pulled a knife and wand, pointing them both at Nymphadora Tonks. The pink-haired woman looked far more relaxed than when she had first met them, regarding them like bugs to be smashed beneath her foot.

Cedric could tell this woman was powerful but, she wouldn't win easily against them, if at all. She seemed to recognize that.

"You and yours? How did you get in here?" Ernie demanded. "Dean and I warded this place so much, you shouldn't be able to come in here if you aren't Alfheimean."

Tonks raised an eyebrow. "I am the Lady of Whispers by my own merit."

"I thought it was because you were a whore and knew the secrets of whores," Cho said, repeating Harry's words and to her merit, Tonks smiled, laughing softly. She looked at them all as if they were nothing but children. Cedric hadn't been made to feel like a child in a long time.

"I was a whore. I slept with men and women for their secrets. I furthered the cause more than almost anyone," Tonks said, firmly.

"A whore is a whore," Justin said casually.

Tonks' eyes flashed. "I dare you to say that to my King and hear his response. He doesn't take kindly to the word."

"Why?" Cho asked. "He's a hypocrite, then? He called you a 'whore'."

"He believes only those that have been called such a terrible thing should have the right to say it," Tonks retorted. "And my King has been called far more _debased_ things than just whore."

Cedric was silent for a long moment, watching the woman who so fiercely defended her King.

"Did he really free all of those creatures?" Cedric asked, finally.

"He did. He was willing to give Freia up for them. Because the idea of someone in chains makes him weep. The idea of someone enslaved makes his weak. And they don't follow him out of gratitude or misplaced loyalty either," Tonks said, sharply. "They follow him because he is _worthy._ "

"Worthy?" Cedric repeated, mulling the word over in his head. He ignored Cho's careful stare as she tried to figure out what was in his head. He wanted to shake her. The woman was always so _damn_ suspicious after what that tow-headed witch had done to him.

Tonks nodded, firmly. "And you will find him worthy too."

 **WHO**

"Fuck, I fucked up that up!" Harry said softly, pacing up and down his room, his face buried in his hands. He ignored the Dark Lord and Tonks as he worried himself into a frenzy. He looked up at them, wide-eyed. "Tell me how bad it was. How _terrible_ it was."

Tonks hesitated.

"You were...being _weird_ , Harry. I don't know what else to tell you. It was just _weird_ ," Tonks said, earnestly.

Harry groaned and began his pacing again. "They _hate_ me. I was trying...I was trying to make them like me. I've never had to worry about people liking me. They just...kinda do. Unless they were my aunt who just hates me on principle."

"That Muggle bitch isn't your aunt. Don't claim her," Tom drawled.

Harry huffed, ignoring the man's words.

"I know, Harry. But, to others, you aren't just our Harry. They haven't seen how you were before," Tonks sighed. "All they see is a man. A beautiful man. With a dragon. With the Dark Lord. With the loyalty of all these creatures. You are strange and foreign and too powerful to trifle with. I underestimated how intimidating you would be. But, they'll learn better. I've already warned them—"

"Warned them?" Harry squeaked. "What did you _do_?"

"My job as your Lady of Whispers," Tonks snapped. Harry watched her carefully and Tonks' eyes softened. "They will find you worthy. As we did. They will see past your terrifying beauty and beneath how amazing you are. They will see that you have a _good_ heart."

"Do I?" Harry whispered as he grabbed at his book and settled on the couch, curling into Tom's side, basking in his warmth. He winced when he felt a hard grip on his chin and Tom tilted his head up to stare into his eyes.

" _Never_ doubt that you have a good heart. This may have been your birthright but you have _earned_ the trust of these people through no power but your own. You have put your faith in a faithless man. You have freed a people. You have gained the respect of your elders. And you have a terribly good heart," Tom said firmly, speaking to him as if they were the only two in the room.

Tonks watched them and saw how easy it would be for Harry to fall in love with this man. She slowly stood and she couldn't help her tired smile when Harry didn't even look away from the man. Instead, she slipped from the room, intent on seeing her son before she put him to bed and perhaps to speak with Remus.

Harry's cheeks flushed pink and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Tom's lips, chaste and warm before he pulled back and plucked his well-read book, about Alfheim history, up from the side table. He kicked off his pants—though he didn't remove his over robe—and crossed to the bed and leaned back against the headboard, his eyes scanning over words he'd read nearly four times. Tom regarded him for a long moment before he stood and joined him, kneeling at the end of the bed.

Harry laughed softly when Tom slowly began to unbutton his robes from the bottom up. He opened it just to his chest before he leaned down again.

"W-what are you doing?" Harry laughed as Tom lifted his bare leg up onto his shoulder. Tom turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just above Harry's ankle.

"Tasting you," Tom groaned. "There's so much I want to do to you."

"Well, I'm working," Harry said softly, his voice cracking as Tom kissed up his leg, nipping and teasing at the skin of his calf. He lightly kicked Tom in the side but, the Dark Lord paid him no mind. "I need to know more about the Alfheimeans. They don't...like me. They think I am cold. That I am vain. That I am arrogant. I'm not. I just...I've never had to work to get people to like me. Either they like me too much or they hate me. And these people...Tom, I _need_ them to like me."

"Because your beauty intimidates their Princess and your power intimidates their Prince and his warriors. You are the Fairest," Tom murmured against the skin of his thighs and Harry gasped, choking on a quiet giggle as Tom yanked him forward by his legs, spreading them wide.

"I can't, Tom. I'm…" Harry flushed, looking away under Tom's delighted stare. "I'm sore."

Tom smirked and didn't say anything as he kissed Harry's thighs, sucking bruises into the soft, pale skin. Harry gasped, his book falling from his hand, a page wrinkling from his rough treatment. Harry's head fell back as Tom dragged his tongue up the soft skin, brushing and nipping at Harry's balls.

"T-Tom…" Harry gasped. He choked when Tom drew his tongue lower and he felt the roughness of Tom's tongue against his sensitive hole. "Tom...you shouldn't— _Tom._ "

Tom turned his face into the crease of Harry's thigh and smirked as Harry moaned his name.

"Harry...do you remember what I said I wanted to do to you?" Tom asked, looking up at Harry with bright red eyes. Harry tossed an arm over his eyes, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Yes…" Harry choked out.

Tom smirked and leaned down again.

Harry gasped, softly as he felt Tom's tongue, drag under his balls, brushing across his hole. His thighs tightened around Tom's ears as a soft moan escaped his mouth. Harry bit his lower lip, trying to stifle the noises as Tom tasted him. He gasped when he felt Tom's tongue thrust inside of his hole and he clenched down, whimpering softly. Tom laughed again and Harry lost himself to the feeling of Tom's tongue lapping against his hole, thrusting in and out of him, a steady movement.

Harry tried not to squirm but he pushed against Tom's tongue, chasing the feeling of it. He'd never felt anything like that before. It was overwhelming. It made him feel worshipped and vulnerable. It made him...it made him...

"Fuck...I'm going to cum... _fuck_ ," Harry gasped.

Tom nodded and reached one hand up, wrapping it around Harry's cock. Harry keened in the back of his throat as Tom applied just the right pressure, pressing his tongue flat against Harry's hole and flicked his wrist just the right way. Harry let out a yelp as he came, jets of seed splashing across his abdomen, dribbling down his cock onto Tom's fingers.

Harry lazily looked up at the man still out of breath. He watched as Tom inspected his fingers, that same non-expression on his face before his tongue darted out, tasting Harry's seed. Harry moaned, throwing his arm over his eyes.

"Please, _don't_ make me hard again. I'm so, so tired," Harry whined.

Tom snorted as he wiped his hand on the bedsheet. "It's not my fault you're lacking in stamina. Also, you taste exquisite. As I knew you would."

"Fuck you, asshole. Get me a towel. I don't want to wake up to dried cum gluing me to my sheets," Harry said, snarkily, his cheeks flushing red.

Tom snorted again, rolling his eyes. "Yes, your Grace."

" _Fuck_ you."

"You're the one that said you were tired," Tom reminded him.

Harry growled. "Fuck...you know what, please just do as I asked."

 **IS**

Gabrielle watched herself in the mirror, touching her face and her skin, in awe of what she was seeing. It had been weeks since she had last seen her face, and a week or so still since she had gotten her vision back. But, still, she couldn't get over watching herself in the mirror, inspecting the differences that had jumped at her.

She looked older.

Her 16th birthday was quickly approaching.

Her hair glowed silver and her eyes were paler though she wasn't sure if that was due to her blinding or due to the fact that she was nearly a Veela, as her sister was. Once upon a time, Gabrielle would've been made to put on the veil to protect herself. Now, Gabrielle could protect herself with steel. Perhaps her magical education was lacking but, that was something she could do on her own now that she had her eyes.

Her eyes.

Gabrielle stood, looking at her chest, bared slightly her robe. There were scars there. Old bruises were fading but Deyanira had beaten her day in and day out for months, placing new bruises on top of old bruises. Of course, they would scar. Gabrielle used to be proud of them. Now, she wasn't sure what she felt.

"The full moon approaches. You can't run with us."

Gabrielle looked at Fenrir through the reflection. Slowly, she pulled her robe closed and turned to look at him. His eyes were soft, like they were when they first got married. It was as if he had forgotten her words the day she had gotten her sight back.

Gabrielle hadn't.

"I know. When will you back?" Gabrielle asked as she walked up to him. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. She could feel his fangs brush against her skin. He always let the wolf out more when it was close to the full moon.

Gabrielle had pretended not to notice before. But, that wasn't an option anymore.

"We have a few new turns. It'll be hard to get them to recover. I'll be gone a week, at most," Fenrir said, firmly. Gabrielle nodded and she tugged him out of her room.

Her room. She only slept in his bed now.

She tugged him to the study, where they took their breakfast. Gabrielle only went to the ballroom to train. When she went in there, hunger and thirst went away. Everything went away except for the violence thrumming in her veins and the rage. So much rage.

Gabrielle pushed it away, compartmentalizing. She looked down at the spread and smiled.

Warm bread. Fresh, unsalted butter. Apples from Albion. He was trying. So, he hadn't forgotten how upset that she still was.

Good. He should _never_ forget.

"Come break fast with me first," Gabrielle insisted and she tugged him down, pressing a warm kiss to her lips before she pushed him into the chair and she sat on his lap, curling up against his warmth. He was even warmer near the full moon, practically a fireplace.

"Apples," he said, holding one up in offering. Gabrielle guided his hand to her lips and she took a bite of the crisp, crunchy fruit. She smiled, allowing the juices to roll down her chin. He lapped it once and gave her a peck as she swallowed.

"I love apples," she murmured.

"I know," he whispered.

They ate, in near silence, only breaking the silence once in a while. Gabrielle closed her eyes as she ate. She could taste the oiliness of the butter, the warmth of the bread. The copper taste of blood remained on the back of her tongue. Blood and ash.

She wondered if this was what Death tasted like.

She didn't ask Fenrir out loud. Instead, Gabrielle gorged, tasting and attempting not to think about the blood. She tried not to think about the welts on her back that she could not reach and didn't want to Fenrir to touch. She didn't think about the fact that she and Fenrir hadn't fucked since she lost her sight. Except, she did.

"When you get back, I'm going to ride your cock so hard, I might break it," Gabrielle said, softly.

Fenrir twitched under her, his lips pulled into a feral grin. "Why not before I leave?"

"Go run with your wolves, Alpha," Gabrielle said, loftily, pulling out of his hands before he could think to grab her. Fenrir threw back his head and let out growling laugh.

"You are quicker now, Miss Gabrielle," Fenrir said.

"I've always been quick, Mister Greyback," Gabrielle teased and she grabbed the last roll of bread just as Fenrir began to reach for it. She winked and nibbled at it as she walked away from him, feeling his eyes on her back.

Fenrir stood and followed her. Gabrielle walked towards the foyer, where she knew she was. She walked down the stairs, standing on the landing and watched Deyanira. Deyanira stood there, without staff, dressed in the thinnest robes Gabrielle had ever seen. Gabrielle supposed they made sense. Deyanira would only strip out of them anyway, when they ran.

"Gabrielle," Deyanira said and slowly she tilted her head, exposing her neck.

Gabrielle only nodded and turned away from her, looking up at Fenrir.

"I'll see you in a week, my love," Gabrielle said.

Fenrir nodded, staring down at her, seriously. "Do you have the keys, Gabrielle?" Fenrir asked.

"In my bedside table," Gabrielle said.

"Remember. Don't go into the room in my study," he reminded her as he reminded her every time.

And Gabrielle smiled demurely, as she did every time. "I won't. I promise."

Fenrir nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he loped down the stairs and grabbed Deyanira by the neck, squeezing once. He was out of the door in the next second. Deyanira hesitated at the door, watching Gabrielle.

"Who am I?" Gabrielle asked.

And Deyanira opened her mouth as if to say something. "The others...the others were not like you, Gabrielle Delacour."

"What were they like?" Gabrielle asked.

"Not like you. You are...marked," Deyanira said. She shook her head and disappeared through the door, leaving Gabrielle all alone.

Gabrielle rolled her shoulders back and looked at the door, coldly.

It was time for her to learn how to cast the Unforgiveables.

 **FAIREST**

Cedric watched, gasping for air as he watched the Fairest.

Harry was wielding _fire_ without a wand in sight. He seemed to spin and move as the flames twisted around him and the great beast next to him breathed flames in tandem, manipulating it just as he did. They looked utterly in sync, as if they were no difference between them in mind or heart. It was a mesmerizing sight that took Cedric's breath away.

Cedric took a shaky step forward, and suddenly, the dragon—Freia—snapped out of concentration, spinning bright yellows on him. She screeched in rage, her long head swiveling towards him immediately. She curled her long spiked tail around Harry, her wings widening to increase her size. Cedric took a shaky step back but, he refused to scream.

"Don't make any sudden moves."

Cedric flinched at the soft words and he glanced over his shoulder. The Dark Lord was watching them curiously. His hands were clasped behind his back and even though he appeared non-threatening, Freia screeched at him anyway, hot spittle flying from her mouth onto their skin.

"Doesn't she...she doesn't like you either, does she?" Cedric rasped.

The Dark Lord's lips twitched. "She doesn't like anyone but her Master."

Cedric looked to Harry for help but, the King only stared at Freia. Cedric took a trembling step forward, reaching his hand out. Harry's eyes widened in interest as Cedric gathered his courage and pushed down the fear. He swallowed back the bile and stopped his shaking and reached forward even more.

Even still a few inches away, he could feel the heat of her body. Cedric closed his eyes and reached farther, his neck straining.

"Your Highness!"

Cedric could hear Susan's warning but, he ignored it, reaching out farther and then his hands connected with soft scales. They were softer than he thought they would be.

Slowly, Cedric opened his eyes and stared into Freia's.

"Oh…" he whispered.

Harry's eyes were wide with shock and he slowly stepped out of the coil Freia had made with her body, moving alongside her flank and her side, brushing his fingers across her scares, whispering softly to her.

"Go," Harry called.

Freia screeched and then with the heavy beating of her wings took off, sending a harsh wind across them all. Cedric flinched but, Harry was still, so used to it. Harry's eyes followed Freia, his lips pulling into a soft smile.

"Well…" Cedric said, his voice cracking.

Harry's smile grew wider. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

"That wasn't the word I was going to use," Cedric admitted. Harry's smile fell sharply. The Dark Lord snorted, turning away in amusement. For some reason, Cedric's cheek turned pink with chagrin. "But, yes. Gorgeous beast."

"She's not a beast," Harry said, firmly. Cedric frowned at him. "I...I birthed her out of my own fire, you know. The fire you saw. She's... _mine_. She's not a beast. No matter how terrible she gets. No matter how big. No matter how many people she terrifies. She's mine."

Cedric hesitated.

"You must understand how you sound," Cedric said, earnestly.

"How do I sound?" Harry asked, patiently.

Cedric frowned, figuring how to phrase it without offending the man. He looked at the Dark Lord but, the man was carefully watching Cedric's Adored Ones, keeping them far with just a look.

"I don't...is the Dark Lord's presence necessary?" Cedric sighed.

Harry twitched at the question, as if he'd never been asked such a thing.

"I...my Lord—" Harry began.

"No, your Grace," Voldemort said, immediately.

Harry huffed, shaking his head. " _Tom_ ," he barked.

"Harry," Voldemort retorted, just as annoyed. Cedric watched, entranced as the two watched each other, as if measuring their stubbornness against one another. Finally, Voldemort rolled his eyes and walked away, his eyes trained on Tonks as she trained with one of the redheads—Ron, Cedric thought. That one was always in McGonagall's shadow.

Cedric regarded Harry and pointed. "That...that's…"

"I don't understand you, Cedric of Alfheim," Harry said, softly, and he looked off to the cliffs, at the crashing waves, his eyes narrowed.

"I don't understand _you_ ," Cedric retorted. "You don't know how you sound. How you look. How you _appear_ to my people."

Harry let out a hard laugh. "Oh, I know. I'm beautiful."

Cedric scoffed. "That's not what I mean. Yes, you're beautiful. But, to my people, you're _terrifying_."

Harry finally looked at him, a bright gleam in his green eyes.

"That's what I said," he challenged, his voice low.

"You are terrifying, Harry Wildfyre. You are powerful, beautiful, and terrifying. I come here and the first thing I see is your army. An army of creatures that have sworn themselves to you and you alone. The second thing I see is your dragon. And then, I see three tamed Slytherins. And finally, I see you. And you...you could be the savior of my country or its destroyer," Cedric snapped angrily.

Harry regarded him. "I would never come to your country and take it from you."

"That's not the _point_. I'm sorry but, we've avoided this too long," Cedric said, his non-apology hanging in the air between them. "My country is struggling economically. Due to my disposition, trade was closed and we survived on what we had. It wasn't much. We're attempting to open ports now but, allying with you will severely limit our resources until your war is done. I can't do that when I can't even get Gringotts to approve us for a loan. So, I need to _know_ that this is worth it."

"It's worth it," Harry said, firmly. "My cause is worth it. These people are _worth_ it."

Cedric raised his eyebrows and regarded the other man. "We'll see."

 **OF**

"Their training is going well, your Grace," Rodolphus Lestrange said as he walked with the King throughout the training grounds. "They were trained individually, in their own people's arts, but we are allowing a well-rounded education."

"Good," Harry said, firmly, and he smiled up at Rodolphus. He appreciated that the man didn't even look a little off-balanced. The same couldn't be said to Rabastan who looked like he'd been hit over the head. "I've heard, through Firenze, that there are those that don't wish to fight. What do they do."

"They are far and few between, your Grace. They are mostly the elders. Each group of creatures has elected elders to stay behind. To conduct the rites for those that die," Rodolphus said.

Harry's heart sunk but, he couldn't fault the creatures. They were being pragmatic. Harry wasn't naive enough to believe that no one would die but, he'd like to pretend, just a little longer. The creatures didn't have that luxury. They had already seen some of their loved ones be murdered in the camps, and they hadn't been afforded rites before. He would gladly allow that.

"I...that's good," Harry said, firmly before he could lose his footing. "You will be returning to Hogwarts soon?"

"I...believe so," Rabastan stammered. "We still have a few Death Eaters that my Lord deemed unnecessary as of yet. We don't want to draw Narcissa's eye. She has already noticed that he leaves too often, and the Dark Lord suspects that she is curious about Andromeda's sudden departure."

"We won't be able to hide our residence here for much longer," Harry muttered under his breath. He had hoped they would be able to but, the armies were becoming much too large, and the amount of magic concentrated was bound to be noticed by someone.

"There are options, your Grace," Rodolphus said, firmly. "We will close the Western Bridge. Afallon is largely self-sufficient."

"There are people here that don't even know that I'm here. That don't know the danger I put them in," Harry muttered to himself and he didn't notice Rodolphus and Rabastan exchange surprised looks behind his back.

He looked up, watching the centaurs spar, fighting with the sort of brutality that he embodied in battle. It made his blood roll for a fight though he knew that he could always train with Tom later.

"They'll know soon enough, your Grace. We know the roles that we've played in the Slytherin regime, and we are not exactly...regretful but, we are not proud either. We know that these people will benefit from your presence and your rule," Rabastan said, firmly. He leaned forward, staring at Harry, a curious look in his eyes.

"You have already helped the people of Godric's Hollow," Rodolphus added. Harry looked up at him, jerking. "We got your message. From Sally-Ann."

"Oh...good. You never mentioned it, so I didn't know if…" Harry hesitated, waving his hands as if to fill in what he was going to say. Rodolphus looked unimpressed but nodded.

"You're a good man," Rodolphus said and he stepped in front of Harry, blocking his view. He glanced at Rabastan who caught sight of whatever they didn't want Harry to see. "Your mother would've done the same."

"I forgot. You also knew my parents," Harry said, softly.

"Not well," Rodolphus said, firmly. "But, you show the same bravery that I knew of them. You defend the weak, fight for what's right, and deliver justice to all those that deserve it."

"I try," Harry murmured.

Rodolphus hummed. "You do more than try. If you didn't, I wouldn't want you as my King. Now close your eyes."

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes, trying to step around the Lestrange Lord. "What are you doing?"

Rabastan glanced over his shoulder and frowned as he caught sight of the Prince of Alfheim approaching. He shook his head once and the man came to a stop, his brow furrowed. Rabastan turned around, looking over Rodolphus' shoulder again and then nodded.

"I am your King! You will move, Rodolphus Lestrange, or—" Harry shouted just as Rodolphus stepped to the side.

Cedric watched Harry freeze as the cake was brought to him, held unsteadily in the hands of a young child—maybe five years—with a shock of turquoise hair. He assumed the child was Tonks', due to her penchant for odd hair colors.

"Happy birthday, Harry," the child said, shyly.

Harry looked up, almost lost, untrusting if it was all for him. It struck Cedric as oddly childlike. He had never thought about the Fairest as a child. He had never thought about the fact that he must have been born and grown up. Cedric wondered if Harry had always been so beautiful or if he had grown into that beauty. He was even more unsure which was worse.

"Oh...it's my birthday, isn't it?" Harry asked, softly, slowly falling to his knees. He took the cake from the little boy's hands and sniffed once before he passed it to Percy's waiting hands. "Oh, come here, Teddy."

Teddy grinned and threw his chubby arms around Harry's neck. Harry held him back, his eyes wide and he shivered as he looked up at Tonks, Remus, the Weasleys, and Voldemort.

"It's my birthday," Harry repeated. "It feels like I've known all of you forever."

"The day that summer died and was reborn," Remus confirmed. He looked tired, and a little sad but, he continued on. "I remember it well. Every flame in Albion was snuffed out and came back twice as strong."

Tonks laughed, softly. "To be honest...we forgot."

"So did I," Harry laughed as he slowly pulled away from Teddy, pulling the man into his side and he looked at Madame McGonagall. "Madame?"

"I remembered the cake. After I was reminded," McGonagall admitted.

Harry froze and slowly he turned to look at Voldemort. The Dark Lord stared back at him, impassively, his lips twitching. A broken sound emerged from Harry's lips and he twitched, as if he wasn't sure what to do with his body. He looked around and even Ron was nodding, grudgingly. And Cedric knew then because Harry launched himself forward, leaping at Voldemort, and wrapped his arms around him.

Harry pulled away, as if he suddenly remembered himself and he grinned as he looked at all of them. The creatures were watching, curious about the celebration of their Wyrdfod, wondering what the King would say. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fighting his grin and he nodded at all of them.

"I...thank you. So much. I've never...I've never gotten a birthday cake before," Harry admitted, looking down at the grass and Ron gasped, his eyebrows high.

"Never?" he demanded.

Harry shook his head. "I...we didn't celebrate my birthday. I...thank you," he said, as if he still couldn't believe it. He let out a quiet whoop and grabbed Teddy from the ground, holding him tight. The little boy giggled and squirmed but Harry only squeezed harder. Harry looked at the people that followed him—the people that loved him, Cedric realized—and let out a watery laugh. "Thank you. Cake, anyone?"

 **THEM**

Daphne stared at the bowl of salt water, running her strange wand over the surface, reading the ripples and whispers that the sea had brought to her. Neville watched her with uncertainty as she gurgled and whispered. Daphne had always made him uncomfortable when she practiced unknown magic. It had always pleased their grandmother though, just as it pleased the woman now. Augusta looked grimly satisfied though she knew nothing of worth just yet.

She knew to expect only good things. Daphne always delivered good things, from the moment she had come to them.

"Sister, what do you hear?" Neville asked.

Daphne jerked as she sat up, her wand falling to the tabletop with a soft clatter and a half-hearted roll. She looked over at Neville, brushing her hands over her temple, smoothing down the flyaways. She dipped her hands in the salt water and took a deep breath, shuddering with pleasure as she disrupted whatever she had been doing.

"My sister has told me that my father is ill," Daphne said.

She didn't sound particularly sad about any of it.

"I apologize, ward-sister," Neville said anyway.

Daphne shook her head. "It is better this way. Astoria will rule."

"You give up your birthright so easily," Augusta said with a snort. "You foolish girl."

"My place is here with you," Daphne retorted, staring at her grandmother with narrowed eyes. Augusta plucked up a sausage, popping it into her mouth. "I know that. I've always known that, Grandmother."

Augusta snorted. "Even as a child?"

"Even then," Daphne said, firmly. She looked around, though she knew that no one would interrupt. Augusta had warded it so well that she doubted that they could leave without her Grandmother taking the wards down. "A ship crossed the oceans. Alfheimeans."

"Alfheimeans aren't on their way to Hogwarts. We'd know that," Neville said, firmly. "If they were allying with him, Draco would have bragged about it. Or the servants would talk."

"They're not allying with him," Daphne said.

Augusta froze in the middle of her sip of tea. She slowly placed the teacup down. "Andromeda left to ally with the Gryffindor," she murmured.

"Do you think they know?" Neville asked, immediately.

"Hermione knew nothing. She thinks that I'm the enemy, aiming to steal her place in Draco's 'heart'. I know that she was close to Andromeda," Daphne said, firmly. She sighed, leaning back in her seat though she continued to rake her fingers through the saltwater.

"Ask her," Augusta said, firmly.

Daphne snorted. "She already threatened me, Grandmother. She will not take well to me prying," Daphne retorted, shaking her head. "But...I do think that Narcissa suspects. Narcissa suspects everything."

"How will _we_ know if it's true?" Neville asked.

"If it's true, they'll close off the Western Bridge soon. What else has your sister heard about the Gryffindor boy?" Augusta asked.

Daphne hummed, her brow furrowing. "She calls him...Wyrdfod. But, that can't be true."

"Wyrdfod? The lullaby," Neville said, referring to the song that she always sang to the orphaned children in Arcadia, the song that she used to sing to him after his parents had been murdered and she wanted him to sleep.

"They think he's the Wyrdfod. Astoria says that he has an army of thousands, and that the Alfheimeans that have come...it is the _Prince_ of Alfheim," Daphne whispered, as if she were too afraid to speak it aloud. Augusta cursed her breath, shaking her head.

"I did not expect...I knew that he was a factor. After all, he took back Godric's Hollow. But, he is powerful enough for a Slytherin to ally herself with. What else does she know of him?" Augusta asked.

But, Daphne's brow was furrowed as she parsed through the information she had heard. Neville watched her carefully as her lips shaped around words only she could understand. She jerked as if shocked and looked up again.

"She says...that he is the most beautiful creature she has ever seen and that he has something...a great lizard with wings. She does not know the word," Daphne whispered.

"A dragon?" Neville gasped.

Augusta shook her head. "It couldn't be. Dragons are extinct," Augusta said with such finality but, Neville could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

"What is dead may never die," Neville reminded her and Augusta looked suitably shaken. Good. She thought he was a fool, and maybe he was, but he wouldn't let her become one too. Augusta was the mind. She had to stay sharp. "We must concern ourselves, first and foremost, with what happens in these walls. We are not safe here. Our safety is the primary concern."

Daphne nodded in agreement and she finally pulled her hands free from the water. She grabbed her wand. " _Evanesco._ "

The water Vanished and Daphne cracked her knuckles and neck, humming to herself. She still looked uncertain but she nodded at Neville's words.

"The King has requested to break his late fast with me. I must go," Daphne said, standing up and smoothing her cloak.

"Let us see what you're wearing," Augusta said, firmly.

Daphne pulled apart her cloak, showing off the sea green gossamer cloth that wrapped around her body, hugging her close, showing every line of her thin frame. Her lips curled into a soft smile as she arched her neck, showing off the silver and emeralds around the pale column of flesh and bone. She closed her cloak and nodded.

"Acceptable?" Daphne asked.

"Quite. Go break the late fast," Augusta said.

Daphne hesitated. "And Hermione? I do like her, Grandmother."

Augusta raised her eyebrow, loftily. "She must learn about war sometime, dear child. Perhaps, it is time for her to learn that not all wars are fought in armor."

 **ALL?**

"Your Grace...Harry."

Harry and his council jerked, looking up at the man and woman that stood in the doorway. Harry's lips pulled into a soft smile as he looked at Cedric and Cho. He hadn't seen Cedric at all, yesterday. Tonks had insisted that dinner on his birthday be private, only for him, Tonks, Teddy, and the Weasleys. Tom had elected not to join, citing allergies to redheads, and had fucked off somewhere with Severus, Lucius, and the Lestranges. He had returned to fuck Harry into oblivion, though.

"Cedric, is something wrong?" Harry asked, his smile falling somewhat at the thought.

"We've come to a decision," Cho forced out, fighting to keep a pleasant smile on her face though Harry could see the stress at the corner of her eyes.

Harry stood, suddenly, his expression becoming serious. "Have you?" he asked, softly. "And your decision?"

"If we were to ally with you, would you support our endeavor for a loan with Gringotts?" Cho demanded to know. Harry nodded immediately.

"Absolutely. And Afallon will have exclusive trade with Alfheim until the war is done. Afallon is largely self-sufficient and overproduces," Harry said, firmly and Cho nodded as if she liked the idea of it.

"You would be willing to sign a magical contract?" Cho asked.

"Yes. As long as your Prince signs it too," Harry said and finally, they all turned to look at Cedric who looked just as hesitant as he had when he first landed on Afallon.

Cedric stepped forward, watching Harry carefully, as if he'd never seen him before. Harry winced under the close examination. Men didn't look at him that way, like they were trying to see his insides, examine all of his faults and his sins. Only Tom had ever looked at him that way, too close, so close that it burned.

"Have you never celebrated your birthday?" Cedric asked.

Harry flinched. "I...no," Harry said, quietly. He looked down, hating that they were speaking about this at a war council meeting but, it was necessary.

"Why?" Cedric demanded.

"You have no right to ask him—" Ginny barked.

"It's fine," Harry interrupted, shaking his head. He smiled. "Because I lived with three Muggles that despised me. I barely knew my birthday until I was eight. I've never gotten a cake or a 'happy birthday' before. That's why I couldn't join you for dinner yesterday but, I gather you knew that."

"Aye," Cedric said, quietly. He looked at Harry and nodded, as if he liked what he saw. "You have a good heart."

"I try very hard to. It's hard sometimes. You know?" Harry asked because he truly thought Cedric did know. And Cedric nodded like he understood Harry too well.

"We are both leaders, far too young to be leaders," Cedric murmured and Harry nodded again. "My Adored Ones...they do not agree with my assessment. They think you are reckless and they are still afraid of you. But, your people are not. They love you. Fiercely. You walk amongst them, speak to them. You love them and they love you back."

"And I love them. I do. I really, really do. I'd _die_ for them," Harry said, so staunchly that Cho nearly took a step back under the weight of his stare. "I'd _die_ for them."

"You have a good heart," Cedric repeated. "And they will see that. They will you for what you are. We will help you, Harry Wildfyre. We will come to your aide and fight until our dying breaths because you are not fighting for your birthright. You are fighting for what's right."

And Harry smiled his brilliant smile and said, "Thank you."

:::

 **A/N:** Another chapter done! I've worked on this chapter for the past 5 hours to get it on time, hahaha. It was a super stressful week! But, it's all here now! I'm ready to hear what you all have to say about this strange, kinda meandering chapter. I'm not a big fan of this chapter because it really focuses on one area and I want a few more POVs but, that's all coming next chapter so I'm not too upset. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! THANK YOU AND PLEASE REVIEW!


	26. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twenty-Two

Amelia Bones hated the desk she sat behind. She had served two princes at the desk that she sat at, and she knew that she didn't belong behind it. She especially hated the look of awe and deference that the desk gave her, in addition to her white robes, rightfully won. But, the desk...it would never belong to her.

"Princess—" young Leanne said, quivering in her dove grey robes with excitement.

"I am not a Princess," Amelia said, firmly. It was something she oft-repeated, and would not budge on, despite the circlet that graced her grey-streaked hair. "What is it, Leanne?"

"Sorry, Madame-General," Leanne corrected, as carefully as she could. She skipped forward, flapping a piece of parchment in front of Amelia's face, overwrought with excitement. "It is from the Prince. His crest is upon there. I haven't open it though. I swear."

Amelia sighed, shaking her head. "I know, Leanne. Come sit. You're making my head hurt," she said gruffly.

Her trainee—now that Susan had gone—bounced forward, and sat in the chair in front of the desk, her smile not falling in the least. She leaned forward as if she would be able to see through the parchment though Amelia hadn't even cracked the seal just yet.

"Do you mind?" Amelia muttered.

"Sorry, Madame-General," Leanne said though she didn't sound sorry at all. Still, she leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap, waiting for Amelia to announce the contents of the letter.

Amelia sighed and opened the letter, reading it carefully. She paused.

"It's from the Prince, indeed," Amelia murmured. She ignored Leanne's squeal of excitement. "He tells me that the _King_ of Albion is indeed as beautiful as his titles claim. He is 'kind, good, beautiful, and just' and has procured the loyalty of thousands, including a dragon."

"A dragon?" Leanne squeaked, bouncing up and down in her chair like a child.

Amelia snorted. "Yes, a dragon. The Prince has promised our aid and has requested that I begin to prep our troops. The King, modestly, asked for a quarter, but the Prince has agreed to three-fifths of our troops, ready to be sent over within the next three months as they prepare to host them at Afallon. Well, then, the king of Albion has made an impression on our Prince," Amelia murmured.

"Do you think he has? Do you think he's really as beautiful as they say?" Leanne demanded and Amelia nodded once in confirmation.

"I do not think the Prince would lie about such a thing," Amelia said and Leanne lept up, squealing, spinning in a circle in excitement before she stopped, her chains jangling around her waist.

"Will I go, Madame?"

"No," Amelia barked, finally cowing Leanne in submission. Leanne sighed, looking down and Amelia's eyes softened. "No. After all, I'll need all the help I can get after I send some of our best warriors. Now, go fetch me a bird from the falconry. I will pen confirmation and send it to the Prince straight away."

Leanne's lips turned up into a sweet smile and she nodded, bouncing from the room. Amelia sighed, leaning back in Cedric's chair and she shook her head.

She had had enough of sending children to war. Susan, Cedric, and even, Cho, to an extent. Amelia had been the one that had sent her after all. Cho had been the one to utter those terrible, unforgivable words against that horrid man, Roger Davies. Cho had been the one to let loose that green light in order to save Cedric and everyone else. Cho was not a child any longer.

Amelia was tired of sending children to war.

Amelia wouldn't send another.

 **MIRROR**

"How do I look?" Hermione asked for the third time as she looked at her reflection in the window that they passed. Luna smiled kindly at her Lady, shaking her head.

"For the third time, you look lovely, Hermione," Luna insisted. "Even more so than Lady Daphne."

"Good...good," Hermione repeated, nervously, as she continued down the hallway, holding her chin up. She felt good about the day. She would be at court but, she wouldn't allow anything to bring her down. She was alone but, that was by choice. She would be okay.

She would make sure everything was okay.

"I'll go in on my own," Hermione murmured.

"Okay. I have work to do and...Rodolphus is Portkeying from his secret mission with the Dark Lord to see me," Luna said with a quiet smile. Hermione nodded in quiet understanding and they parted ways not long after they went down a flight of stairs into the Entrance Hall.

As she emerged into the Great Hall, she made sure to keep her smile steady but not overly exuberant. She nodded as the servants curtseyed, murmuring her name over and over again. This was normal. It wasn't normal that suddenly, her arm was linked with another's.

"Sister," Blaise murmured into her ear.

"Step-brother. I haven't seen you in so long, I thought that you fucked back to the Republic. How unfortunate that you haven't," Hermione said from the corner of her mouth, keeping her lips just slightly upturned as he escorted her to the lady's tale.

"Oh, come now, sister. I can't just leave you here utterly alone and unescorted. What would Mother think?" Blaise drawled.

"I'm surprised your _mother_ hasn't tried to poison _me_. After all, she can't wait to get her hands on my fortune," Hermione sighed. She paused. "Well, that makes her sound like a caricature out of a fairy story. How quaint."

"Now, don't be petty, Hermione," Blaise warned, teasingly though there was a malicious glint in his green eyes. He tilted his head as he regarded the woman, approaching the table where Pansy watched with maliciously dark eyes. "I am the Lord of Whispers, and I hear you have been jealous lately. Are you feeling a little ignored? Would you like an audience with the King?"

"I have many audiences with the King," Pansy piped up. Her little sycophants all perked up, watching Pansy and Hermione steeled herself for the barb. "Lady Granger has been witness to one. Haven't you, Lady Granger?"

"Yes. You appeared to have had...clotted cream in your hair, wasn't it?" Hermione retorted with a razor-thin smile. Millicent Bulstrode guffawed into her bear paw of a hand until Pansy elbowed so hard that she grunted.

"Well, I'm not the only one with private audiences with the King. He's been asking Lady Greengrass to tea an awful lot lately, hasn't he?" Pansy drawled as she lifted her goblet of wine to her lips.

"Now, now, Lady Parkinson, I hope you aren't suggesting anything _untoward_ ," Tracey Davis giggled.

Hermione shook with rage as she looked at the women. These dreadful, _horrible_ woman.

"Of _course_ not. The King is loyal to his intended. Isn't that right, Lady Granger?" Pansy asked, softly.

Hermione ripped her arm for Blaise's and slowly made her way back down the aisle, away from the Great Hall before she did something unwise. Her magic tingled, unused but searching for an outlet. Hermione would give _anything_ to curse the bitch into oblivion. She paused, looking over her shoulder. Lady Narcissa watched her with cold eyes, as if she was as intriguing as a dead fish. The King watched her with some semblance of interest. The two empty seats next to them struck more despair through her. Her potential allies had abandoned her here to _rot_.

At least, the King still was interested in her.

And then, Hermione saw that his gaze was not on her at all. She turned and saw Daphne in the doorway, laughing softly at something her ward-brother had said. Daphne noticed her presence, her eyes lighting up.

"Hermione—" she called.

"Don't," Hermione snarled as she pushed past her, ignoring Daphne's reaching hands. She stormed up the stairs, her eyes gleaming with tears of fury. She wasn't sure where she was going, blinded by her rage, but when she found herself standing in the doorway of the library, she couldn't say that she was surprised.

Hermione took a deep breath and released it through her nose. Slowly, she breathed until she blew away all of her stress and anxiety. Suddenly, she felt the urge to wrap herself around Luna and cry. But, she wouldn't. Luna was with her paramour, who had become increasingly scarce as the Dark Lord had made himself. Hermione would let her have that. Luna should have her time with her love, especially when she spent so much of her time reassuring Hermione.

"Hermione?"

Hermione winced as she heard his voice and she turned around, laughing waterily.

"Oh, Barty. I wish you weren't here, for once," Hermione said, attempting to laugh though she knew how cracked and broken it came out. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had genuinely laughed.

She thought it was perhaps when she was with Fleur and Gabrielle. Her heart ached for them. She wondered what they were doing, if they were even still _aliv_ e. She liked to imagine that they were still in their idyllic dress shop, Gabrielle still walking on Fleur's heels, begging for a few galleons to buy a new book on Albion history or apples.

"I want to be here. I want to comfort you. You're my friend," Barty said and he sounded much closer then. Hermione felt his hands on her sides, slowly turning her until she was facing him, looking him in the eye. He had very kind eyes. "Hermione, what's happened?"

"I am a mockery," Hermione said, her lips twisted into a bitter smile.

Barty hushed her gently, taking her by her hands and slowly drawing her deeper into the library, to their little nook. It was where they met to exchange books and speak softly or just read together in silence. Luna was usually there too. Now that she wasn't, it was like magic charged the air around them.

"You aren't," Barty insisted. "They love you, you know? The people in Hogsmeade. They _adore_ you."

"I will be a well-loved Queen everywhere but in my own home, then. Merlin, Barty how can you live here? This is hell," Hermione rasped as she leaned her hips against the edge of their table, shaking her head.

"I was raised here," Barty said, quietly. He looked over at Hermione's inquisitive look, shyly. "As Daphne Greengrass was fostered by the Longbottoms, I was fostered by the Dark Lord when I grew too unruly for my father. I know what it's like here."

"Were you ostracized too?" Hermione murmured.

Barty hummed. "I had to prove myself. My Lord made me a Death Eater when I was barely a man. Severus and Lucius and the others...well, they weren't kind, at first. But, I proved myself. I'm one of them now."

"Why would you want to be?" Hermione demanded to know, staring at him. "The Death Eaters have done _heinous_ things."

"Why do you want to be a Slytherin, little bird?" Barty retorted, just as swift. "The Slytherins have done even worse things. But, you'd like to belong, wouldn't you? You want to belong somewhere?"

"I want to _survive_ ," Hermione hissed and when had Barty gotten so close?

She couldn't remember.

They were breathing each other's air, lost in each other.  
"You should want more than that," Barty murmured.

Hermione slowly lifted a trembling hand, her fingers playing with the ends of his straw-colored hair.

"I haven't ever been allowed to want more than that," Hermione admitted. "I want now."

And she looped her arm around his neck and pulled him close, slotting their lips together.

It was a messy and frantic kiss. Hermione wasn't particularly practiced but, she'd kissed a man before. Draco, when he had been kind and the good prince that he had proclaimed to be. Before she had noticed the greed in his eyes when he mapped his hands across her skin. But, this kiss was different. Hot and all-consuming, their lips moving together, their tongues brushing against one another. Barty's hands were tight on her waist, pulling her against him and they were of a height, so she had to tilt her head just so.

Hermione pulled back to breathe, her lips spit-slicked and parted. She was breathing hard and Barty was watching her like he'd never seen her before.

"This is not wise," Barty admitted. "You're the King's intended."

"The King fucks all the women he wants. The King is allowed to want. I'm supposed to be Queen, aren't I? Then, I want too," Hermione insisted, pulling him against her again, chasing his lips. Barty leaned forward immediately, kissing her soundly.

His hands tightened on her waist and slid her up on the edge of the table. He stepped between her legs, crumpling her skirts, his hands brushing up her sides to cup her small breasts. His lips pulled away from hers with a soft sound and then he was on her neck, the exposed skin of her collarbone, sucking bruises into her skin. Hermione moaned softly as he worshipped her and she tore at her bodice, unlacing it swiftly to reveal her breasts.

"Merlin, you're perfect," Barty whispered as he stared at her.

Hermione smiled as she leaned back on her hands.

"I would like to taste you, my Lady," Barty breathed, breathlessly.

Hermione's cheeks were flushed as he dragged his hands up and down her sides, his lips pressing over and over again to her chest, to her breasts. Hermione whimpered softly as his fingers tweaked at her small nipples, his tongue lapping over them.

"You...you are tasting...me…" Hermione breathed, moaning softly.

Barty hummed and he slowly sank to his knees before her, his hands tight on her tiny waist.

"Lower," Barty breathed as he hiked her skirts up, his fingers dragging along her stockings, at her small clothes and he tugged at them before pausing. He looked up at her, eyes bright. "May I?"

"I...I don't...that's...I've never," Hermione finished, unsure of what to say.

She hadn't ever done much of anything.

"Let me. Please," Barty begged.

Hermione slowly nodded, only aware that where he touched, she burned. She burned so pleasantly that she thought she might burst or vomit or both. Barty grinned as he ducked under her skirts, sucking and nipping at her inner thighs. The sensitive flesh tingled under the touch of his lips and Hermione moaned as his fingers pushed aside her small clothes, brushing against her folds.

"Barty, that's...oh…" she breathed as he ran his fingers up and down, running them against her nub, teasing her.

And then, she felt something wet press against her hot core and she fell back against the table, pushing one of the books aside with a loud thump. He ducked from under her skirts, looking up at her with a wide smile.

"Shh...we mustn't be found out," he warned with a grin before he went back under her skirts and his _tongue_ pressed against her wet folds again.

Hermione wondered if this was what the afterlife felt like. Warm and tingling and exquisite. His tongue lapped against her folds, tasting her wetness and her breathing quickened as she clenched her thighs around his ears. Hermione whimpered softly as his tongue slowly began to thrust _into_ her hot core and she mewled softly, biting into the soft flesh of her arm to muffle her sounds. Hermione opened her half-closed eyes and she gasped when she caught sight of a pair of eyes, just behind a bookcase.

Her step-brother hovered in the shadows, his eyes narrowed in rage. Hermione's lips curled into a tiny smile.

She reached for Barty's head under her skirts and moaned again.

"More...more...Barty, I…" she whined and then she came, her back arching, her chest aching for breath, and her eyes never left Blaise's.

Blaise snarled.

Hermione _smiled._

 **MIRROR**

Narcissa pressed her face into her hands, breathing slowly in order to will away her frustration. She looked up again, her ire twisting her face into something ugly as she regarded her stupid, _stupid_ son. Draco glared at her, defiant until the end.

"You must _realize_ that just because you are king doesn't mean you can do anything you want," Narcissa said, keeping her voice level. She ignored Dolohov, lingering in the corner, watching them like they were a jousting match.

Narcissa's mood soured. She had first met _Lucius_ at a tourney.

"You always said—" Draco started.

"I know what I said," Narcissa snarled and Draco fell silent, his lips curled into a sneer. Narcissa looked at him and shook her head. "If _anyone_...had seen...you and that _girl_."

"We were having tea," Draco retorted.

"And she was on your lap while doing it? The damn Greengrass girl, Draco?" Narcissa bit out and Draco scoffed, shaking his head as he looked out of the window, like a child.

"Why does it make a difference? You don't care when it's Pansy," Draco muttered.

"Pansy is a stupid girl with her legs open for everyone, and her father is _loyal_. Don't touch the Greengrass girl, Draco. The Longbottoms aren't as loyal as they seem," Narcissa warned him and she knew that she was warning him in vain. She knew her son, her stupid son that she had raised.

"I haven't even kissed her, Mother, and Neville Longbottom swore his family to me," Draco retorted.

Narcissa closed her eyes. She remembered the look on Neville Longbottom and Daphne Greengrass' faces when she had walked into the hall, full of slaughtered men and women. She had been humming, nonsensically, as she shot Lady Longbottom through the throat, as she tortured her. She had hummed loud enough to dispel the woman's screams. Now, the tune had been fashioned into a song. After it was done, Narcissa had walked over the bodies, blood splashing at her feet and she had kneeled before them.

 _'_ _They will write songs about this night. Don't cry, little fish. They will write songs about you, as they have written songs about me. Do not cry, little fish. Tears are blood, ill-spilled.'_

And she _remembered_ the looks on their face. Neville's pale, round face, his wide eyes haunted. Augusta, ashen and old. And Daphne. Daphne's _fury._

Narcissa had wiped the tears from her face. They had tasted like the sea.

"Fine," Narcissa hissed. "But, you will not dishonor your betrothed again. You wanted her—"

"What if I don't anymore?" Draco said, petulantly.

Narcissa hummed. "You will keep her. Do you know what they say about her? Out there? They _love_ her, far more than they will ever love you or Daphne Greengrass. And she is the heiress of an _immense_ fortune. You will keep her, Draco. In fact, you shall keep her sooner than you expect. Keep away from Daphne Greengrass."

"Or what?" Draco asked.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "Or you shall reap what you sow. Now, get out of my sight."

Draco paused, ready to rage at her again before he seemed to remember the last time he had disrespected her. Narcissa watched him flinch away from her as she lifted her wand to spell her books and scrolls away. Her heart sang with sorrow. Her own son, her boy, was terrified of her. But, she was terrified of him, as well. Her little monster.

Draco nodded once and glared at Dolohov.

"Your Grace," the man said, bowing low.

Draco nodded and stormed out of the room. Narcissa leaned back in her chair and snapped her fingers. She watched as a house elf appeared before her, wrinkled and sad-looking. Narcissa's lip curled into a sneer.

"Yes, Mistress?" the house elf squeaked.

"Fetch Lord Crouch for me. Tell him that he may take his time," Narcissa said and then she turned away, disinterested in the house elf's answer. The house elf disappeared with a loud crack of magic, and the Lady of the Coin looked at Dolohov. "You were witness to something private."

"I was. But, you called me here, my lady," Dolohov challenged. His gaze narrowed on the woman. "I won't speak of what happened here."

"Good," Narcissa murmured. She stood from behind her desk, regarding the man before her. "My Lord, you have served well on the King's council."

"I live to serve," Dolohov confirmed and Narcissa laughed.

Dolohov didn't.

Narcissa slowly walked towards him, slinking forward like a snake before she changed direction, going towards the window. She looked out, towards the gates to the Forbidden Forest, as if she expected Voldemort to emerge. Narcissa sneered. She hadn't seen her brother in weeks, just as she hadn't seen Lucius.

"I have asked you here because we are moving up the King's wedding to the Lady Granger," Narcissa said, and Dolohov scoffed.

"Forgive me, my Lady, but I don't have time to plan weddings. I have a war to win for the King instead," Dolohov said and he turned to leave. Narcissa spun around, her wand on him, and the Death Eater froze.

"You will not leave unless I dismiss you, my Lord," Narcissa said, coldly. Slowly, Dolohov turned around, his eyebrow raised and Narcissa slowly strode towards him, her lips turned into a cold smile. "I require your assistance, my Lord. I hope it won't be a bother."

"You've never had anyone say 'no' to you in your life, have you, my Lady?" Dolohov asked. "Never experienced rejection."

Narcissa nearly took a step back. Dolohov watched her, impassively, and Narcissa's smile was sharp as glass.

"You think I do not know pain, Lord Dolohov?" Narcissa asked, gently, as if speaking to a child and she gazed at the handsome man, with his strong jaw. She reached up, tracing her fingers against him and he shuddered. "You think I do not know horror? You are horror. You have done horrifying things, haven't you?"

"What do you mean, my Lady?" Dolohov asked.

Narcissa's lips curled into a soft smile. He never turned his gaze from hers. He looked deep into her eyes. That was his first mistake.

She peeled his mind open and smiled.

His second mistake: what a handsome man, he was. With his strong jaw.

"You like little girls a little too much, don't you, my Lord?" Narcissa murmured as she stepped closer to him, her breasts pressed against his chest. Dolohov opened his mouth to protest but Narcissa hushed him, soft and quiet. "Do not...lie to me. You cannot lie to _me_."

"I...I have committed indiscretions, yes, my Lady," Dolohov breathed and he squirmed as his groin tightened and pulsed as he looked at this beautiful woman.

"But, it's not about...just the little girls. It's all the women. The women that you can express control over. Do you think you can control me, my Lord? Or would you like to be controlled?" Narcissa murmured, brushing her fingers down his chest, her lips twisting as he tracked the rise and fall of her breasts, the way her lips parted just so.

"I...I don't know…"

"I'll have you on your knees for me," Narcissa promised with a sly smile and she pressed her hand back, pushing him away as the door swung open.

Dolohov staggered, falling to one knee to center himself. Narcissa suppressed her laugh as Lord Crouch emerged, looking as severe and tepid as always.

"My Lady," Crouch said with a short bow and Narcissa nodded.

"Lord Crouch, I'm glad that you've come. We have much to discuss," Narcissa said and she waved Crouch over to the seats before her desk, walking past Dolohov as if their past exchange hadn't happened at all. Crouch nodded.

"Where is the King?" Crouch asked, roughly, as he sat down.

Narcissa hummed, sitting behind her desk. "His presence isn't required. The King has better things to do than plan a wedding. Now, come. We shall discuss the Lady Granger's wedding and coronation."

Crouch's eyes lit up. He saw this for what it was. Narcissa extending her hand, in gratitude for his continued loyalty. Ever the political animal, was Bartemius Crouch Sr. But, Narcissa was no longer the young mother that had had a family slaughtered in order to secure her and her family's future.

No.

Narcissa did her own butchering now.

 **ON**

Cedric walked through the training grounds, his arms linked with Cho, their heads bent together.

"Do you really think this wise?" Cho murmured.

"I signed the contract, Cho. It is done," Cedric said, firmly, for what felt like the twentieth time. Cho sighed, and nodded, as she had the other nineteen times that she had asked the same question. Cedric never got angry with Cho but, it wouldn't be a lie to say that he was a little irritated by her doubt.

"I know. I just...I'm so worried, Cedric. I'm worried about you," Cho insisted. "What if you...if you _die_?"

"Then, you'll lead a country newly prosperous after the King of Albion's win," Cedric said, firmly. He ignored Cho's moan of dismay. "I do not fear death, Cho. I thought I'd die a long time before now. I thought that I would...you know."

"Don't speak of that, please," Cho whispered.

Cedric nodded once. He knew how much Cho hated speaking about the darkest parts of his life—when he had first met her. When Cho had come to his castle, seeking out her father, he had been desolate, only wandering his mother's garden for comfort. His mother was like Cho in so many ways—kind, fair, well-read, and from another land. While Cho was from the Republic, Cedric's mother had been a common woman from a village outside of the Albion stronghold of Arcadia. She had made the gardens to look much like the ones in Arcadia.

Cho's father had disrupted that tranquility and Cedric had been consumed by black rage and grief. Only Cho had been his guiding light once she had gotten his Adored Ones to return after he had done nothing but driven them away.

"Alright, my love," Cedric murmured. He gently tugged her out of the way of a sparring pair and he nearly walked right past them before he hesitated, getting a better glimpse. "Dean?"

"Aye!" Dean shouted, breathlessly as he sparred with a redheaded woman with a long thick braid down her back. Cedric frowned. If he remembered correctly, Ginevra Weasley, the Commander of the Archers.

She fought well for an archer, though a little dirty. Cedric grinned when Ginny was caught in a stranglehold and escaped with a well-placed kick back at Dean's groin. Dean cried out, falling to his knees before he pushed through the agony and tackled Ginny to the ground. Cho scoffed, shaking her head.

"Fighting for fun? Again?" Cho sighed.

"You know that's not what that was," Cedric chided, gently, as they continued past to another one of his Adored Ones.

Justin and Ernie and Firenze, the centaur, were watching a spar between two older men. By their dress, Cedric assumed that they were Death Eaters. Brothers even. One of the men had a terrible scar going through a hazy eye.

"It's Rodolphus Lestrange, Cedric. He's glorious, isn't he?" Justin whispered in admiration.

The Death Eaters' prowess had reached even the farthest recesses of the world. As it had spread, it had seemed like nothing but fairy stories but, Cedric was in awe. Rodolphus and Rabastan twisted around each other with a brutality that spoke of an urge to kill, not just a simple spar. To see them in true battle...Cedric was glad that they were on the same side.

Cedric couldn't help but nod. "He's good. No Severus Snape but…" Cedric murmured and he wondered if he'd ever get to see the great swordmaster fight in person.

"If you're looking for a real fight. Look who just kicked _Anthony's_ ass," Justin chuckled, pointing further over.

Cedric's eyes widened as he saw Harry Wildfyre, standing amongst a small crowd, his head tilted back in his laughter. Anthony kneeled on the ground, between Susan and Hannah. Hannah was cursing softly, punching Anthony in the shoulder as she looked over his wounds. Cedric approached fast, Cho on his heels.

"Really, Anthony?" Cedric sighed.

Anthony shrugged. "I thought I could beat him."

"You can't even beat _me_ ," Susan groaned, shaking her head. She glanced over at Harry. The King's back was to them as he was congratulated by his followers—the redhead, Ron Weasley, Tonks, and the Dark Lord. "Look who has taught him."

Cedric shook his head and stepped forward. "You've beaten my man bloody, your Grace," Cedric called. "I don't think he minds though."

Harry looked over his shoulder, laughing into his hand. "I don't think he does either. I smiled at him and he nearly threw himself at my feet."

"Not true!" Anthony roared as the men and women around them laughed. Anthony flushed a blotchy pink and he shook his head. "I bet you couldn't beat my Prince! He would grind you into the dust!"

Harry tilted his head in interest. His lips curled into a smile.

"Do you really think so?" Harry murmured.

Tonks frowned. "Harry…" she said, full of warning.

"Cedric, don't…" Cho murmured. Cedric grinned, taking a step forward.

The Dark Lord barely reacted, his eyes darting between all of them. "Your Grace, must you always be so reckless?" he sighed, as if already tired of Harry.

Harry laughed, softly. "Come now, my Lord," he teased. "What do the Adored Ones think? Can he beat me?"

"Yes," Hannah said, firmly, so full of belief. "He is the prince of a warrior country. Of course, he can beat you."

"So cocksure, Hannah," Harry laughed. "I am not the prince of a warrior country but, I am a warrior in my own right. Some might even call me a conqueror."

Cedric nodded in agreement. "That's a word for it."

"You think maybe...you could beat me?" Harry Wildfyre asked, his eyes alight with mischief.

Cedric paused, looking down at Anthony. The man was breathing hard, blood smeared across his mouth and the rim of his water skein. Anthony took another sip, wiping away the sweat on his sleeve. Cedric tried his hardest not to look at Cho as he took a step forward, slowly lifting his wand.

"I've been trained to fight from birth," Cedric allowed. He took up Anthony's fallen sword and slowly began to circle the self-proclaimed King of Albion.

He didn't twitch, his lips twisting into a small smile despite himself.

"I have been made King by the most brutal man in the world. I have bled and been beaten for my cause. Forgive me for saying that I think we'll be quite matched in skill, your Highness," Harry said over his shoulder as he looked back at them.

"Then, prove it," Anthony said, spitting out a tooth.

And Cedric threw himself forward towards Harry's open back. And then, Harry was on his knees, spinning, swinging one foot out at Cedric's ankle, followed by the line of his sword. Cedric threw himself back, eyes wide at the sudden move, and Harry's green eyes sparkled with mirth.

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ " Cedric cast, his wand in hand.

Harry dodged and rolled across the ground, the sands of the fighting pit scarred black by the spell. He propelled himself upwards with only his legs and landed in a crouch. Cedric stared at him as Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Are you _sure_ , Prince Cedric?" Harry asked, softly.

Cedric's lips curled into a small smile. "I'm sure."

Harry grinned a terrible smile. "Good," he said, and then he snarled, his lips pulled back over his teeth, like the dragon that hissed and spat in the background. "This might hurt a bit."

He began to run forward and Cedric only had a moment to react as Harry threw his sword down in a brutal arc and pulled his wand with the other, hissing a spell that Cedric couldn't hear. Cedric caught the sword with his own and curved out of the way of the spell. The jet of magic was so close, he could feel it crackling against his skin. His face was only inches from Harry's, and Harry grinned as he threw himself backward.

Cedric rolled back his shoulders. His arm had vibrated from the force of the blow. He looked into Harry's bright green eyes, and he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. Harry grinned back and spun out of the blow, twisting his wand just so the spell spiraled with the momentum of his body. Cedric flew backward, knocked flat on his ass, and he let out a gasp of shock. Immediately, he twisted onto his hands and knees and pushed himself up, dragging his sword into an arc.

Harry just barely ducked out of the way, holding his wand and sword defensively.

"You're good. Really good," Cedric complimented as he gathered himself, regarding Harry.

"Thank you," Harry said, sounding mildly out of breath. "I've had a good teacher."

"You can't have just started learning," Cedric debated. Harry's lips curled into a secretive smile and he winked. Cedric grinned. This beautiful man was something else indeed. He shook his head in amusement. "You said you could beat me. You'll have to show me something I've never seen before."

Harry's lips curled into a grin. "Sure," he said and then he slowly stowed his wand and waved his hand through the air, as if gathering something into his palm.

Cedric's eyes widened when he saw the tiny ball of fire resting in Harry's palm. And then Harry blew softly, and the tiny spark exploded into an inferno.

Cedric dove out of the way, rolling away as the Earth was scorched by a fire that burned so hot that he felt his skin tingle and crack with the power of it.

"What is _that_?" Cedric asked, his eyes wide.

"Warned you!" Anthony shouted snarkily from between Hannah and Susan. Cedric glanced over his shoulder at his Adored Ones.

Cho's nostrils were flared, her eyes wide with terror.

"Eyes on me, Prince Cedric," Harry called and rolled the fire between his fingers as he stalked Cedric. He threw his hand forward.

Cedric brought his wand up and shouted, " _Protego Maxima_."

The fire exploded around his Shield Charm. Harry watched, his eyes wide with delight as he watched the magic pulse in time with his own fire, fighting against the strength of it.

" _Suffumo_ ," Cedric called, and a large cloud of smoke exploded around him, obscuring everyone's view. He waved his wand, giving himself sharper eyes—the eyes of the Beast—and slowly moved through the smoke.

He could hear the shouts of disorientation from the spectators but, his eyes were on Harry. Harry's back was to him, twisting and turning through the smoke. Cedric raised his wand, as he pressed against Harry's back, pressing his wand against the King's temple.

"I think I've won this round, Fairest," Cedric said with a grin.

Harry snorted. "Have you, Beast?" he asked and then he slammed his head back, cracking it against Cedric's face and spun, slamming the pommel of his sword into Cedric's face. "When it comes to winning, your Highness, unfortunately, I lack any semblance of honor."

Cedric roared with laughter even as his nose cracked and bled. He threw out his wand, blowing away the smoke with jinxes after charms and Harry laughed too, blowing each back, bending and weaving between the sizzling magic. He was like fire, ever-changing, and just as destructive. His Fire exploded around him again, like a halo and Cedric gritted his teeth.

"Honor doesn't win wars," Cedric conceded.

"Aye," Harry chuckled, and he spun, throwing his sword down, his Fire following in arc after him.

And so it was on. Cedric battled Harry's steel with his sword and his Fire with his wand. He watched as the Fire weaved and bowed with Harry's movement, just as it had when Harry had been working with Freia. The fight was nothing short of brutal. Rapid parrying and violent thrusting. Cedric caught Harry in the side, grazing him with a Disarming Charm, causing him to stumble. Harry returned it with a headbutt when Cedric got too close.

Cedric wasn't sure if it lasted for years or minutes. He knew that he was tiring. Sweat poured from his brow, obscuring his vision, and his robes were singed from the moment that Harry had let his Fire get too close.

"Ready to end this?" Cedric called.

"I'm just getting started," Harry responded as they backed away from each other, still grinning. But, Cedric knew that Harry was just as exhausted as him.

He also knew that Harry was holding his Fire back.

"Bring everything you've got, _Fairest,_ " Cedric prompted, taunting.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, _Beast_?"

"Yes," Cedric said, affirmatively.

Harry slowly backed away until they were meters apart. Cedric slowly held his sword out in front of him, his eyes narrowing on the target.

And then Harry began to run. Cedric gasped as Harry spun, his flames spinning with him, attaching themselves to him as if a shield. The fire spiraled out from his sword, threatening to burn him alive. Then, there was a great screech, and Cedric looked up as the dragon soared overhead, as if called to Harry's side by the heat of his Fire. The dragon opened her mouth, eyes trained on Cedric.

"FREIA! No!" Harry shouted.

Cedric gasped as the dragon closed its mouth and continued to fly overhead, circling them, as if watching him. And then, he saw his chance. He darted forward, bringing his sword down as Harry tried to calm his dragon.

That was a mistake.

Harry's Fire twisted, and blasted outwards, catching Cedric across his body, settling his robes afire, and tossing him onto his back. Cedric roared at the sharp flash of agony, and he thought he could hear Cho's voice mingling.

"No!" Harry cried out, throwing his hand out as he pulled his magic back, and the flames disappeared just as quick as they had come. Cedric gasped, clutching at his chest and when he looked down at himself, he was unburned. "No more Fire. We can just—"

"I yield...I yield…" Cedric gasped as he staggered to his feet.

Immediately, Cho was running at him and threw herself around him.

Cho brought Cedric tight against her body as his head felt against her shoulder in exhaustion. She sighed in relief, her fingers scrambling over the back of his singed robes, brushing away the sweat and blood from his brow without a care.

"You're okay, you're okay," she whispered, over and over again. Cedric only hugged her back. Cho was from the Republic. She was not like him. She didn't have violence and brutality thrumming in her blood.

Not like Cedric.

Not like Harry Wildfyre.

"Why did you yield?" Hannah hissed into his ear as she checked him over wounds, running the tip of her wand over his chest, sealing the gash there.

Cedric turned to look at Harry Wildfyre. Harry was watching Freia, running his hands through his hair. Blood dripped from his temple and sand and dirt smudged across his cheeks. His hair was a mess, matted with blood. The Dark Lord stood in front of him, raking his finger through Harry's hair, whispering words.

"I couldn't have beat him. Even without the Fire," Cedric confessed, softly.

"Why? You have been trained since birth," Hannah hissed, warningly. She glanced over at the other Adored Ones. Cedric could see the barely-contained fury in Susan's face, so much like her aunt's.

"And he possesses brutality and fire that one must be born with. He has something that I've never needed. The unrelenting will to _survive_. To _endure_ ," Cedric said, firmly, and the longer he looked at this enigma of a man, he saw how true his words were.

This man had _endured_.

The King didn't even glance in their direction. Tonks stood behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle and her forehead pressed into the nape of Harry's neck. Voldemort stood in front of Harry, tilting his chin up this way and that, inspecting him for wounds. An older woman had rushed to his side, forcing potions on him that he seemed to be refusing to take.

"He will live," Cho called, snappishly.

Harry pulled away from Voldemort, reaching out to the Alfheimeans. Cedric's Adored Ones closed rank, eyes narrowed on him. Harry jerked back, his hand dropping.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get distracted and let the Fire loose...I didn't think that Freia would _do_ that. She knows it was just a game. It was just…" Harry trailed off, shaking his head. He looked up at the circling dragon. " _Freia_ , _baw_. _Baw f_ ü _ir_."

Freia screeched at him in response, almost defiant. Cedric watched, ignoring his Adored Ones.

" _BAW, FREIA!_ " Harry shouted back at the screech, snarling and Freia shrieked once before taking off, as if in a huff. Harry buried his face in his hands for just a minute. He looked up again. "Are you...are you hurt? Did I burn you?"

"He's fine," Tonks murmured from Voldemort's side.

"No thanks to you," Cho snarled back, angrily.

"I'm unhurt," Cedric interjected. "In war...in war, that is a mighty weapon to have."

He said it pointedly, looking at his Adored Ones. Now that they saw that he was unharmed, there seemed to be a different light in their eyes. Even Susan was watching Harry, still was fear of the unknown but a sense of respect in her eyes.

"How did you...do that?" Susan asked.

Harry's lips quirked into a hesitant smile. "It's...I was born with it. A manifestation of my magic before I knew that I _had_ magic," Harry suggested.

Cho trembled as she looked at them all.

"And the dragon? You speak to it?" Ernie asked, hesitant.

Harry nodded eagerly, and he took a step forward. Only Cho flinched back.

" _She_ is Freia. Freia is still a child. She is defiant and doesn't want to listen and is...overprotective," Harry said, firmly. He looked at Cedric with a raised eyebrow. "You are a remarkable fighter indeed. You are better than me, in technique."

"But you are more powerful," Cedric conceded. "The most powerful wizard I've ever met."

Harry laughed. "I still lose to the Dark Lord so perhaps not yet," Harry said. He hesitated when Tonks leaned in, whispering into his ear. He nodded, slowly and smiled at them all. "I've been informed that I have a war meeting to plan. Cedric, I ask for your presence in this meeting, along with your second."

Cedric nodded, and he watched as Harry walked away, his blood thrumming from the thrill of the fight.

"That was...I hope he fights in battle with us. We'll win, surely," Susan murmured. Her admiration was nearly palpable. "That was extraordinary."

"But, did you see the way he _moved_?" Anthony demanded. "Merlin, I feel like I've just had sex."

"You're disgusting," Hannah snorted and she linked arms with Susan, leading her away towards the older woman that had tended to Harry.

Anthony rolled his eyes and nudged Cedric in the side.

"He is beautiful in his brutality," Anthony murmured.

Cedric nodded as he continued to look at Harry Wildfyre. He was the most beautiful creature in the world, bar Cedric's Cho. Cedric had seen Harry's good heart before but, the feeling of respect—the utmost respect—well within him. It was new, the type of respect that he'd only held for his Adored Ones and Madame Bones and grudgingly, the Slytherins. This man was an _equal_ , in all ways.

"He is," Cedric whispered.

Cho sneered and she glowered at Harry's back.

 **THE**

Cho paused in front of the door, nervous. She raised her hand to knock and then let it drop again. She repeated the process at least three more times. She ground her teeth together as she gathered her courage again. She was the Princess of Alfheim. She could do this. She _would_ do this. She could not fight and she abhorred war but she would do this. She had done many things. For her people. For her husband.

Cho knocked.

"Come in."

Even his voice made her lips curl into a sneer. Cho threw the doors open, her shoulders thrown back. She had worn her most Alfheimean outfit. Her skin looked delicate in gold and cream. The cream—near white—might not have meant something to these Albionians, and it might look underserved but, Cho had worn it. She had done many things.

Cho paused when she did not see the man lounging in his bed or on one of the many sofas. Cho paused when she saw a familiar black cloak tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. The Dark Lord. Cho wouldn't dwell on that just yet.

"Your Grace?" Cho called, keeping her voice hard.

"Second door on your right!"

Cho nodded once and stormed forward again, refusing to lose her resolve as she approached the heavy oak door.

She pushed the door open and gawked.

"I-I'm sorry...I didn't know!" she squeaked, slapping her hand over her eyes. She turned around, her cheeks bright red.

"I invited you in. What is it you need of me, Princess Cho?" Harry Wildfyre asked.

Cho was forced to turn around and she processed the sight before her. She felt a rush through her body. Harry Wildfyre was so _beautiful_ , even more beautiful than her Cedric. She knew that if she hadn't met her Cedric, she would've...could've...well, she could look. Harry was unabashed, slowly washing the blood from his skin and hair as he lounged in his bath.

"You may call me Cho, your Grace," the Princess of Alfheim said, stiffly. It was clearly an attempt at a peace offering but, was too wooden to be sincere.

"It's Harry. I told you. Just Harry. What is it you need, Cho?" Harry asked absently, scrubbing the dirt from his pale skin. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he regarded her.

"My husband wants to help you but, I don't like you," Cho said, bluntly.

"May I ask why?"

"You are brutal and quick to fight. Fighting for sport," Cho scoffed.

Harry's eyebrow rose.

"I was under the impression that your country thrived on such violent entertainment," Harry said loftily before he waved his wand, filling the tub with more oils and soaps from the half-full vials on one of the window ledges.

"We don't fight for _sport_. We fight to defend ourselves," Cho said.

"You prepare children for war," Harry retorted. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Cho's. "Your Adored Ones mocked me behind my back. You think I do not hear? You think I do not see? You think I am arrogant and stupid. Odd and brash. Reckless and a terrible idea. But, now...they see what my people see."

Cho took a step forward. "And _what_ do your people see?" Cho asked. "Someone that is beautiful? Someone that is brutal?"

"Someone that is _worthy_ ," Harry snarled. Cho faltered at the cold look on Harry's face. His expression was dark and he looked older than he had looked seconds before. Dark red lips curled into a fearsome sneer. "I have _fought_ for my titles. Just as your husband."

"How?" Cho laughed. "You know nothing about the life my Cedric has lived. The horrible things that he's had to endure. You call him 'beast', reminding him of the darkest years of his life. You speak about his shame in public. You—"

"I know about shame," Harry said, coldly. "I felt it every day of my life until I was found. I _am_ reckless. And I am arrogant, sometimes. And brutal. And I'm beautiful too. Do you know what it's like to be beautiful, Cho of Alfheim?"

"Easy."

" _Terrifying_ ," Harry hissed, his nostrils flared. "I have been told so many terrible humiliating things by men that want me. I have been stalked and assaulted. I have been beautiful all my life, and it was the _ugliest_ thing I've ever experienced."

Harry had only been twelve. He closed his eyes, remembering the way he had taken the blade to his cheeks, tearing gouges and scars and grief across his face. The blood had flowed heavy and slick. It seemed like it would never end, tears of blood gathering at the point of his chin, staining the stretched collar of Dudley's hand-me-down tunic.

And even through the agony, he smiled.

 _Pretty boy. Let me hold you down and fuck you._

 _Little slut, let me make you cry with my cock._

 _Pretty boy. Pretty boy. Beautiful_ boy.

When he woke up in the morning, he wept, his face whole and unscarred.

But, that was not Cho's story. That was his secret. That was his secret that he would take to the grave.

But, she saw it. She saw the shame. And that was all that mattered.

"I know what shame feels like. And it's not _easy_ ," Harry hissed. "My life has never been easy but, it's made me worthy."

"How?" Cho asked, her voice softer now. As if she wanted a true answer.

Harry looked at the woman. Cho could unravel the alliance if she wanted. Harry knew that Cho was beautiful and beauty did things to men like Cedric, even if he wanted to pretend that it didn't. That he was _above_ that. Tonks had taught him well.

"I have watched men throw themselves before me to protect them. I have broken the chains off of my people, to free them from bondage. I have grown up in war, and have seen the most terrible things. But, the most beautiful things too. I have given all of myself to my people. I am Albion," Harry said and he stood from his bath, grabbing his towels to properly cover himself. Cho looked away as he dried himself off and walked out of the bathroom. She walked after him, staring, as he dressed.

Harry was so beautiful in crimson robes, settling that crown of gold and rubies into his hair. In his battle robes, he looked different—darkness and tarnishing silver. But, the Harry before Cho was bright as war and beautiful as gold.

"And this makes you worthy?" Cho asked.

Harry frowned, looking away. "I wasn't joking when I said I was called Wyrdfod. Fateborn. This was always the way it was meant to be. A Seer hailed a Kingmaker. The Kingmaker hailed me," Harry said, shortly.

"Do you want to rule?" Cho asked.

"It's my birthright," Harry said instead as he pulled back his drying hair and cast a Hot-Wind Charm, drying it as fast as he could. He looked at her, put off-balance by her sudden change in mood. "You ask many questions."

Cho flushed. "I want to understand you because I don't. At all. My husband says you have a good heart. I want to see it."

Harry's lips curled into a smile.

"Your husband is a good man. It must be nice to love a good man," Harry said.

"It is. Do you not love a good man?" Cho asked, carefully.

Harry knew what she was really asking. He regarded her for a long moment though his smile never fell.

"Oh, I love the most wicked man of all," Harry said, simply.

Cho stared at him, thoughts racing through her head. So, that confirmed that rumor. Harry was in love with the Dark Lord. But, that didn't matter, did it? Harry was different from what she expected, and perhaps, Cho was blinded by her overprotectiveness of her husband and her people.

"Why do you do these things? Tell me that," Cho said.

She didn't specify what things.

Harry hummed. "I was a good boy, you know. A good boy who listened who followed the rules. The funny thing is...kings and queens don't have any rules except, one: survive."

Cho hesitated as she looked at this man. She remembered the green light and the way Roger's eyes had gone blank. She remembered Cedric's broken body before the white-haired witch had asked her a question _What do we say to the Stranger, Death_? She remembered how she could only remember the answer in her dreams. She remembered how she only had nightmares.

"Do you have nightmares too?" Cho asked, her voice soft now.

Harry smiled. "Yes. But, I have happy dreams now, too."

 **WALL**

Harry stared worriedly as Freia's screeching mounted again, in rage this time.

"She won't eat anything we give 'er," Hagrid explained again as they watched Charlie try to wrangle his once sweet dragon. Freia snarled, as if she hadn't known Charlie since birth, as if he hadn't been feeding her and taking care of her. "She's been goin' out longer and longer. Heard some stories. People are catching sight of 'er."

"Harry...unless you want to bring Freia into battle...she must remain a rumor. Nothing more," McGonagall warned on Harry's other side.

"I know. I know," Harry breathed, his eyes widening as he watched Freia snarl, smoke billowing from her nostrils. "Why is she _acting_ like this?"

"She's a dragon, yer Grace," Hagrid said, unapologetically. Harry looked up at the half-giant and frowned. "Dragons don't like to be told what do, I reckon."

"But, she's _my_ dragon. And she has to eat," Harry said, helplessly.

They watched as Charlie turned away from Freia, jogging back towards them and she settled when the man gave her space. Harry remembered a time when Freia had been around humans all the time. Now, they had to keep her on the other side of Westeron, in isolation, or atop one of the towers, near his rooms. It hurt.

"Oh, she's eating," Charlie said, darkly.

Harry paled. " _What_ is she eating?"

"She's been hunting. Cattle, according to Percy. She might graduate to humans soon enough if she doesn't eat what we feed her," Charlie sighed and Harry shook his head once, dismissing the idea immediately.

He would die before letting Freia eat anyone.

"She's been aggressive," McGonagall said. "Harry…"

Her voice was full of warning.

"I know, I know. I don't need you saying 'I told you so'," Harry snapped. He winced at the steady look that McGonagall rewarded him and his face softened into pleading. "I just...if Moody finds out, he'll be the first one spouting off."

"Oh, he's already found out," Charlie said, as cheerfully as possible. "I heard him, Vance, Fendwick, and McKinnon plotting and complaining. As always."

"Dammit," Harry whispered.

"Maybe the Dark Lord…" Hagrid trailed off, hesitating.

Harry groaned. "Merlin, no. He'll be insufferable about it. I'll...I'll take care of this," Harry said, steadying his resolve as he marched up to the dragon. "Freia!"

He didn't flinch when she screeched at him, angrily, throwing her head back and letting out a plume of fire. Harry paused in his movements as he looked at his dragon. Freia's actions reminded him of Teddy, when he was throwing a tantrum. Freia had been confined for so long, and now that he had given her an inch, she was taking a mile. It didn't help that she was enormous, much larger than even Hagrid now.

Still, where everyone flinched away from her, Harry continued to move towards her. Freia wouldn't hurt him. She could never hurt him.

"Freia, calm yourself," Harry said, sharply. Freia spat at him, the grass in front of him bursting into flames. He ignored Hagrid and Charlie's yelps of warning. Instead, he extinguished it with a wave of his hand and walking over the charred ashes.

"Careful, your Grace," Charlie called.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "I birthed Freia from a petrified egg. There is no one I'm less afraid of."

And then he pulled his wand, slowly, as if he didn't want to alarm Freia. Freia snarled, spitting out flames and Harry spun his wand, redirecting the flames away from him as he circled her. Freia was angry and bratty, acting out. She was like Voldemort, in that way. Always wanting more and more until there was nothing left.

Harry stopped when Freia roared over his head, spitting fire straight at Hagrid, Charlie, and Madame McGonagall. Harry threw his hand up, redirecting the flames into the air. He glanced over his shoulder. Charlie and McGonagall had thrown up Shield Charms immediately but, now Harry was enraged.

"I am the _one thing_ in my life that I can control," Harry snarled. He seethed as he watched his dragon. He stormed up to her as she bucked and seethed. She spat at him, hostile and full of fury. "And _you_ are part of me. So, you will _calm down_."

He snarled at her and he ignored the awe as Freia spat fire at him and he threw out his hand, throwing it to the side, channeling his way through the plume of dragonfire. When he emerged on the other side, Freia seemed surprised. Harry didn't hesitate to her press his hands to her head, just between her eyes and stared.

"That's _enough_ , Freia," Harry rasped. "No more. I am _here._ With you."

And they witnessed as Freia seemed to settle under Harry's touch. Harry slowly sank to his knees, never pulling away from the fearsome creature, never turning away. Freia bowed her head and Harry let out a broken little laugh as Freia settled her enormous head in his lap, slowly curling her body around him.

"You're a brat, you know that," he snarled. Freia purred in his lap. "You want attention. And you are hungry. And I have been busy with Hedwig and the war. But, I have not forgotten you, my love. I could not."

Freia hummed in his lap and settled. Harry only just noticed as Madame McGonagall came up to his side. Freia opened one lazy eye but, did nothing antagonistic. It looked like a welcome change.

"What would you have done if you couldn't calm her?" McGonagall asked. "Put her down?"

"Not an option. But, she wouldn't have hurt anyone. That also wasn't an option," Harry said and McGonagall's lips twitched into a thin-lipped smile.

"Your stubbornness is both a hindrance and an asset. You are too stubborn to lose but, too stubborn to listen to reason. What you did was reckless," McGonagall said, firmly.

Harry looked up at her in outrage. "You all say that I'm reckless. Over and over again. But, this? This is the least reckless thing I've ever done. I am not afraid of _Freia_. And her fire could not hurt me," Harry said, firmly.

McGonagall nodded, conceding his point but, she still looked at him, sternly. "But, look around you."

And Harry looked.

He blanched when he saw the scorched earth, the flames that still flickered around them from Freia's tantrum. The fire that he had thrown around recklessly. If anyone had been around, except for Charlie, Hagrid, and McGonagall, they would've died in the intensity of the flames.

"Fuck," he whispered.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

"I've gotta...control that better," Harry allowed, softly.

"You will," McGonagall said. "Harry, this is war. And your gift with fire is a great asset. One of our greatest assets, just as much as a hindrance. Like your stubbornness. And you will use your stubbornness to _master_ this gift."

"I don't have much time," Harry murmured. "For all this training...it feels like it's coming to an end. Or something is beginning. I'm not sure which. How do you know I have the power or control? Fate?"

"You are Harry Wildfyre," McGonagall said. "It's not about fate or power. It's not even just about control. It's about _faith_ , and I have faith in you, Harry Wildfyre, just as you had faith in yourself."

 **WHO**

They laid on the bed together, their breaths mingling. Harry didn't know the last time they had turned away. They didn't touch. Being in one another's presence was enough. Harry's tunic was just a tad too large; it wasn't his. It exposed the bruises on his collarbone, crafted from war and lust. His green eyes grew darker in the flickering light and his lips curled into a mocking smile, the color of drying, cracked blood. The white cloth clung to his sides, bunched around his thighs, so that creamy skin was open to the air.

"You hate that Cedric is here," Harry taunted.

It was so quiet but, it sounded like the rumbling of thunder, quick and absolute.

"I do. But, you have secured a powerful ally in Alfheim. We are stronger," Tom said and he turned on his back, having seen Harry when he was bare, without iron or war.

"You do not like how they look at me. You do not like how Justin stares at me, or how the people that have come here, stare at me. You are a selfish man. I knew that before. But, now it is different," Harry said, his voice a soft hiss as his hand slithered up Tom's bare chest, fingernails creating crescent marks around where his heart beat slowly, half-dead. "Now, I know your heart."

Harry moved swiftly though Tom anticipated the movement. He didn't stir even as Harry straddled his waist, tunic bunching around his thighs. Tom's gloves slide over the exposed flesh, resting there. He looked up at Harry. Harry did not smile. Tom didn't expect him to.

"I do not have a heart," Tom said, nonchalantly.

Harry laughed. It was a strange sound, a cross between the growl of Hedwig and the shrieking of Freia. It was feral.

"You would swallow me whole, Tom Marvolo, if you could," Harry taunted. "Or perhaps you would consume me slowly. You would tear through my skin and bite through sinew. You would crack my bones between your teeth and drink the marrow. You would suck me dry until there was nothing but dust and I was all _yours_."

Harry bent over, pressing a kiss to the skin above Tom's heart. He looked up, smirking.

"You play a dangerous game," Tom hissed.

"You would own me," Harry rasped. His eyes hardened. "But, I am not to be owned."

Tom's eyes flashed and he sat up abruptly. Harry didn't move from his lap.

"I made you. You will always be mine," Tom snarled. Harry's lips, red like the poppy flowers that grew in the City-States, twisted into a smile that was neither kind nor mocking.

"I belong to Albion. I _am_ Albion now," Harry promised and he fell forward, pressing his ear against the hollow of Tom's collarbone. "You are my equal, and still, it is not enough. You have my love—all the love I can spare."

"Don't say that," Tom breathed as he combed his fingers through Harry's wild curls. Harry purred against him.

"Why not? It's true. And you could own me too. Only one way," Harry whispered, tilting his head up and Tom swallowed hard.

He stared down at the cruel beauty. He had been enchanted by lips of blood, and skin of snow, and hair of raven's wings. But, now, the fairy stories had ended and he was red like Fate's string, and black as Death's cowl, and white like Time's breath, breathing ice and fire into everything until it was nothing but frozen ash.

"Tell me how, then," Tom indulged.

"You would tell me you loved me too," Harry said, honestly.

Tom flinched, his arms tightening around Harry.

"I cannot love, Harry Wildfyre."

"You loved your sisters," Harry murmured. "I know you did. It's how you watch Andromeda, urging her to kneel to me to protect her, because I know you did not do that for me. In how you don't kill Narcissa, can't kill Narcissa, _won't_ kill Narcissa, even when you promised me you would. How you don't speak of Bellatrix because it hurts too me. You loved them but, you cannot love me?"

"I cannot love," Tom repeated, his voice hard.

"I don't ask for anything more than yourself, Tom. Just as you asked me and I have given. Freely," Harry snapped.

Voldemort let out a harsh laugh that cracked through the room like lightning, quick and resonating.

"You have given what you could, just as I have. Your fears and your secrets remain your own. The heart that I have, the bits that remain, belong to me. Let me keep it as I have let you keep your own. I did not ask for it. You gave it," Tom spat and Harry's lips quivered and he looked away, shivering in the dark of the night.

Tom pulled the blankets higher. Harry let his eyes shut and his breathing evened out. Tom swallowed hard, sure that he had been heard until Harry spoke again.

Harry, who always needed the last word.

"And it is yours. _Inwi nwaly ten'ke,_ Tom Marvolo. And _eké nwaly ten'n._ "

 _I ache for you,_ Tom Marvolo. _And you ache for me._

 **IS**

Fleur turned the wheel, slowly, watching it. It did nothing at first. It never did. To the common eye, it was nothing but a spinning wheel, common if a little outdated. No one used spinning wheels anymore, except for Muggles. But, with just the right words, a spinning wheel became so much more.

Softly, she whispered the ancient guttural language of the Veela. The dialect was hard to parse for the other Faes, and an oxymoron, at that. A deep, ground-wrenching language for creatures of the air. But, an oxymoron was required to see the things meant to be hidden to the eye. Fleur slowly pumped her magic into the spinning wheel, turning it over and over again, her fingers never stopping as she spun golden thread from the simplest grain—straw. She wanted to see _everything_ tonight.

On the full moon.

 _"_ _Pokazhite mne proshloe,"_ Fleur breathed, drawing on the magic of the past.

The past came to her in a swirl of magic, as clear as the gold that pooled at her bare feet.

The beautiful boy, from her last vision, was there, standing before a statue with eyes green as emeralds. Flames erupted around him, lighting the way. _Wyrdfod_ , a thousand voices chanted. _WYRDFOD._ The fire cleared away, showing that same boy as a man. Time had barely passed but, this was a man now, standing before an army of creatures, clothed in battle robes, prowling through the sea of an army, a dragon flying overhead. _WYRDFOD! WYRDFOD!_

Fleur wiped at her wet cheeks as she trembled at the sight of him.

The image shifted.

The blonde woman, who she knew now to be Narcissa Slytherin, walked amongst a sea of bodies. She was younger, then, her eyes alight with fury. Her face was painted with cosmetics, her hair pulled back in a warrior woman's braids. Two little children and old woman. _Little fish...Do not cry, little fish..tears are blood, ill-spilled..._ the words of Narcissa Slytherin echoed. When she turned away, she hummed. What a beautiful voice. The boy wept. The little girl was strange, something about her upturned nose, the color of her eyes...a salt storm on the sea. The little girl snarled, and her whispered words echoed.

 _I will drown you, Narcissa Slytherin. I will drown you._

 _I WILL DROWN YOU._

" _Ukaž mi budoucnost_ ," Fleur gasped when the past became too much. The language of the future spun her wheel backward, and still, gold thread pooled, looping between her toes, tieing to her ankles.

Hermione again. Draped in white robes, a green scarf wrapped around her neck like a noose. But, she was running now. Screaming. Weeping. _WYRDFOD!_ But, she wept in triumph. Rage pulsed through her. She had never looked more beautiful. And at her side was a girl, with long silver-blonde hair, almost like a Veela but...not.

Almost like...but, it couldn't be.

 _There are more than the Dtrwies. There are Seven._

Fleur gasped and the image shifted.

A pyre burned and the scent of burning flowers filled her nose. She couldn't see the bodies until there were so many bodies. War smelled like burning flowers and tasted like copper and fire. And standing around the last pyre—a shroud made of irises and lilies and daffodils—were Seven, all with faces she could not see except one. She tried to count them all: War eyes. Mother-moon's hair. Wise maid. Two crowns of flames. Mirrored crone. And the last: a Stranger draped in war.

The image shifted.

Mirrored crone, and pale hair and burning eyes. And again, young and powerful and beautiful, spinning a curse on a wheel that put a land to sleep. And again, a woman with more power in her pinky finger than Fleur would ever possess in her life. And again, the woman walked through darkness, through dreams, a white cloak on her back. A woman that turned elder into power, riverbed rocks into grief, and silk into nothingness. And she smiled a ghastly smile.

 _How do you become DEATHLESS?_

Fleur knew her by many names— _Baba Yaga, Marzanna, Frau Trude—_ and none at all.

Fleur saw her own reflection and a full moon, and a woman with a sword of silver and steel and scars on her back.

" _Ukaž mi Súčasnosť,"_ Fleur cried out, spinning away from the future, looking towards the present.

And Fleur gasped, her back arching as her fingers ran across the spinning wheel. She tried to pull her fingers away but, the spinning wheel turned and turned and turned, until the spokes blurred together into a collage of images, all more terrifying than the last. Fleur's eyes burned as she tried to make sense of each scene.

Gabrielle, her eyes glazed over strangely, was being slammed into the ground. Beaten and scarred. Fleur couldn't look away, though the horror made her want to vomit. She heard and felt every bone crack and grind, knitted together my magic and rage. And when Gabrielle was whole again, she was someone Fleur barely recognized. This Gabrielle ran through the dark woods, a pack of wolves—men, women, and children— at her heels, and Fleur recognized the largest.

 _Fenrir Greyback._

A werewolf.

And then there was an apple, just as red as the last she had seen in the spinning wheel.

A door.

The door that must never be opened.

Except, it was. Fleur could see inside. She saw it all. The door should have never been opened.

And Fleur _screamed._

 **FAIREST**

"Thank you for joining us, your Highness, Anthony," Harry said as Cedric entered the room, Anthony on his heels. Cedric hesitated as he saw Harry's council already amassed around the large topographical map of the continent.

Andromeda and Regulus Black sat in front of the topographical map, two empty chairs waiting next to the pair. They were clearly for Cedric and Anthony. Cedric walked forward, taking his seat, Anthony doing the same only a half second behind. Cedric glanced at his friend, and second, but the man only had eyes for Harry.

"What is on the agenda for today's meeting?" Cedric asked, curiously.

"We amass to discuss the most important things," Kingsley said firmly. "Coin, war, and allies."

Harry nodded. He cracked his knuckles. "Before we begin, I want to once again thank our allies, the Alfheimeans."

There was a round of applause that Cedric did not expect. He squirmed, uncomfortable with the attention but, willing to bear it.

"Thank you. I have recently sent forth a falcon to Madame-General Bones. We are preparing to send three-fifths of our troops here to aid in the war efforts," Cedric said, awkwardly and he squirmed under Harry's pleased smile. Harry turned away from him and sat back in his seat again, looking to Bill Weasley.

"And Bill? You have something to report?" Harry addressed.

Bill nodded. "I have recently reached out to Gringotts Bank. The loan has been confirmed and the Goblin King himself proclaims fealty to you, your Grace," Bill said.

"A loan?" Cedric asked in surprise.

"I do not have war coffers that extend back centuries as Draco does. I must look to others to help finance my endeavor. My bargain with Gringotts was clear. Lady Warden Andromeda has been a great asset, in this respect, but, soon, the money will run out. We will no longer be able to trade or sell for much longer. Not when I'm discovered here. But, to ensure a loan from the Bank, I had to secure your allyship along with having Lady Andromeda bend the knee. I have both now," Harry explained, apologetically, and if Cedric was shocked or betrayed by the fact that Harry had used Alfheim's financial straits as leverage for the deal, he didn't show it.

"How much is the loan for? How much do we have to spare on weapons after we begin to arm our men and women?" McGonagall asked.

"One million galleons," Bill said, softly. "And upon his victory, half of it shall be forgiven."

There was a long moment of staggering silence.

"And...if I don't win?" Harry murmured.

"No, Harry. Don't think like that," Ginny insisted. Harry ignored her, waving Bill along in his explanation.

"All of the creatures that you have freed will be...repossessed and sold accordingly as King Draco decrees. They will have it back in blood," Bill said, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

McGonagall scoffed. "This is preposterous. When we asked for a loan, we only had high-interest rates to worry about," McGonagall snarled, keeping her fury in check.

"The stakes are higher," Kingsley allowed.

"You must agree to it," Voldemort said, looking up at Harry. The rest of the council turned to him, eyes wide. "You know that."

"I know," Harry said, softly. "I just...won't lose."

"You won't," Tonks said, firmly, without any room for argument.

There was a long tense silence before Harry cleared his throat and glanced over at Cedric, nodding once.

"Hmm?" Cedric asked.

"I will reach out to Gringotts, speaking on your behalf on your country's loan. We will work out a deal," Harry promised. Cedric's eyes widened in surprise but before he could thank Harry, the King was already turning away to look at Voldemort. "My Lord, next potential allies?"

"MACUSA is the next ally we must reach out to," Voldemort said, paging through his small leather notebook and he looked across the table at Andromeda, his eyes narrowed. "Do you still have friends there?"

"Friends? I lost all my friends the minute we committed regicide, brother," Andromeda scoffed.

There was a long moment of tense silence. The reminder of their sins was blatant and unapologetic. Harry didn't flinch, only looking between the Slytherins with a solemn look on his face.

"What do we need the City-States for?" Ginny grumbled. "They don't have a sizeable army and the numbers are growing here. With the Alfheimeans, we're easily at 20,000."

Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"But, MACUSA has a fleet," McGonagall said thoughtfully.

Voldemort nodded. "MACUSA has a fleet," he confirmed. "A sizeable one."

Ginny scoffed, turning away from the man to look at Harry. "We don't need a fleet, Harry. What would that do for us? Hogwarts is landlocked," she said, pointedly looking around at everyone at the table.

"That means nothing," Bill said, firmly. Ginny looked surprised that her brother didn't agree with her. "The best way to approach this is to conquer the empire parts at a time. That means hitting port cities, fast and hard. Controlling resources will make controlling the empire easier."

"That'll take too long," Regulus said, firmly, looking over at Bill and Ginny.

Harry was still silent, quietly taking in everyone's opinions.

"If you want the Gilded Throne, take it. We have a dragon and an army. We should hit Hogsmeade now, with everything we have. The city will fall in a day and another day, we'll have Hogwarts," Ginny said, firmly, slamming her fist on the table and Kingsley shook his head, his eyes narrowed on Ginny's face.

"You wish the King to be King of the ashes, then? Thousands will die," Kingsley said, firmly.

"It's called war," Andromeda said, sharply. The others looked to the Warden of the West, all eyes, and attention on her. "Do you not have the stomach for it?"

"We don't murder thousands in cold blood, Mother," Tonks said, firmly. Andromeda's eyebrows rose as if she were surprised that Tonks had spoken against her. She looked over at Harry, shaking her head. "The people have to love him."

"The people didn't love Bellatrix but, there was never open rebellion, except for the Order," Andromeda retorted. "Common people and nobles are all children, my dear. They won't obey him unless they _fear_ him. After all, when was the last time this empire saw peace? It certainly wasn't during my father's time."

"And who's fault was that? Your brother's," Bill bit out uncomfortably.

There was a long silence when everyone turned to look at Harry and Voldemort. Harry's face was impassive as he listened to their words, the debate happening around him. He slowly turned to look at the Dark Lord, watching his face.

"You've been silent, my Lord," Harry said, quietly.

"I've no time for this squabble. All of you are wrong," Voldemort sighed.

Andromeda let out a bark of laughter, terrible and mocking. "And may I ask why?"

The Dark Lord raised his wand, ignoring how Cedric and Anthony flinched. The Dark Lord flicked his wand, expanding the map to include the edges of Alfheim, the Laug Republic and the beginning of the City-States.

"An army and a dragon aren't enough. Simply taking Hogwarts isn't _enough_. The war won't end only because he sits his arse on the throne. The war hasn't even _begun_ ," Voldemort said, firmly, as he looked around at all of them. He glanced over at McGonagall and hummed.

She looked thoughtful. "Perhaps, it hasn't," McGonagall allowed.

"How do you mean? There have been skirmishes, haven't there been? Battles?" Anthony asked, curiously.

"Yes…" Harry allowed. He looked at Voldemort, curious. "My Lord?"

"The law is clear," Voldemort said. "As it was for the Tabooed, as it was for my father and his cohorts, so it shall be for you. You must declare war. You must declare it for the world to hear."

 **OF**

Gabrielle stood in front of the door, the keys jingling at her waist. Slowly, she bit into her crisp apple, letting the sticky juices run down her chin, and stain the bodice of her dress. She snapped the book close and placed it facedown on Fenrir's desk. Gabrielle leaned back against the edge of the large desk, watching the door. She pulled her wand pointed it at the lock.

" _Alohomora_ ," she cast.

The lock lit up and she waited for it to click open. It didn't. The lock hissed in protest. Gabrielle huffed and took another bite out of the apple, chewing as she mulled over the locking spells she knew. The young woman picked up her book, and flipped through the spellbook again, eyes narrowed as she searched. Her annotations marked the margins. She nodded once and lifted her wand again.

" _Alohomora Duo_."

The lock reacted the same and Gabrielle slowly put her apple down, tilting her head as she regarded the door.

The second Delacour daughter had never had any _real_ desire to see what was behind the door, before. She had been so preoccupied with the massive library and the sheer amount of maps that she had poured over. And yet, now, here she was. She was alone in this house, scarred and pulsing with rage. Alone with her husband's secrets. Her husband's secrets that had brought her nothing but beatings that was supposed to make her strong.

"Husband...what are you hiding from me?" she whispered. " _Annihilare._ "

The entire door rattled, shaking, intended to explode but the lock only glowed for a moment, dispelling the power of Gabrielle's spell.

"Oh, you really _are_ hiding something, Fenrir. You must know you cannot hide from _me_ ," Gabrielle growled and she slid off the edge of Fenrir's desk, gathering herself. And one after the other, she threw spells at the door. " _Portaberto. Liberare. Dunamis. Aberto!_ "

The door rattled and shook in its frame but, ultimately, the lock stayed still. Gabrielle scoffed, tossing her wand onto the desk, snatching the ring of keys from her waist. She hadn't wanted to use the key. If she used magic, she could erase all traces of magic, and Gabrielle would be confident in telling him 'no' in response to the question that he always asked when he returned.

 _Did you open the door?_

Gabrielle shook her head. She was tired of secrets and closed doors, especially now that her eyes were open. The young woman pulled her wand up and searched through the ring of keys. She found it easily, pulling it up and pressing it into the lock. It was a beautifully crafted key; brass and skeletal like, almost. As if someone had taken the bones of a hand to twist it into the haunting shape.

She didn't turn it.

The lock clicked open, ominously. Slowly, Gabrielle pulled it open, peering inside of the dark room.

The first thing she noticed was the stench.

It smelled like the constant taste in the back of her throat—copper. War. _Blood._

"Lumos."

Gabrielle stopped in the doorway, lifting her lit wand. She stared for a long moment, attempting to make sense of the horrid scene before her. The stitched flesh that formed faces, the pale skin pinned to the walls like pelts. And at the center of it all, was a long silvery mane of hair, like a prize.

The apple fell from her hand and rolled into a puddle of blood.

 **THEM**

"Well, well, Hermione. You _are_ bold, aren't you?" Blaise drawled. He swaggered into her sitting room. Hermione didn't flinch, calmly sipping her tea as she regarded her stepbrother. Her tepid smile made his eyes narrow.

"Now, I'm sure you know how to knock, don't you?" Hermione drawled.

Blaise scoffed. He glanced at Luna, who wandered around the room, humming softly to herself. He looked at Hermione with a raised eyebrow and Hermione rolled her eyes. When Blaise dismissed Luna, Hermione had to hide her smirk.

"You play games that you are ill-versed in playing, sister," Blaise spat out as he stood before her, towering over her. Hermione only sipped at her tea, looking up at him through her eyelashes, her lips tilted into a clever smile.

"I think I've learned how to play the game well. Or you wouldn't be here," Hermione drawled.

Blaise scoffed. "You're a little whore, aren't you?" he bit out. "And you forget I am the Lord of Whispers. Knowledge is power here."

And Hermione's smile widened as she set down her cup.

"If there's anything I've learned, power is power," Hermione corrected. "I am going to be Queen, Blaise Zabini. And I am not afraid for _your_ station at court."

Blaise glowered, trembling with suppressed rage. If they were in the Republic, Hermione's front teeth would've been punched out of her face. He'd done it before; the first time he'd hit her. They had been on the cusp of adulthood, her only thirteen years, and him about fifteen. Lady Zabini had sent for a Healer to fix them but, that had been Hermione's first learned act of violence.

She had learned much violence in Albion.

And she had learned about power too.

Hermione knew that Blaise was _terrified._ If Hermione went, so did Blaise, very much in the same way. Death was a marked end. After all, they were foreign, and Hermione had no doubt that Blaise had had some hand in the strange events that had led up to her betrothal. She knew that Blaise had noticed her at that ball, and he had _wanted_ Draco intrigued by her.

"You will get us killed," Blaise snarled.

"No," Hermione corrected. "I will do as I please. I will have any assortment of lovers to comfort me in this hellhole. And if, Barty Crouch is one of them, so be it."

"A Death Eater," Blaise snapped. "And a nearly disgraced one. His own father doesn't want him as an Heir."

"But, the Dark Lord has taken a liking to him. Fostered him. He's nearly above you. Does that bother you, step-brother?" Hermione taunted and Blaise twitched as if he wanted to pull his wand on her and strike her dead. Hermione laughed. He wouldn't.

He couldn't.

"You think you've won," Blaise breathed.

"It's a long engagement. I've no fear of being found out," Hermione drawled. She stood up, and walked away, towards Luna who hummed to herself as she mended. She stood just beside the girl and Luna looked up at her with sharp, knowing eyes. Hermione suppressed her smile again.

"You're a fool. The wedding has been moved up."

Hermione froze. She slowly turned.

And Blaise's eyes were lit up with triumph.

"What...do you mean, it's been moved up?" Hermione snarled.

"Narcissa is as uncomfortable and insecure about Draco and Daphne's relationship as much as you are," Blaise said, scathingly, taking pleasure in the heat rising in Hermione's cheeks. "The wedding has been moved up...your _Highness_."

And Hermione stormed out of the room, pushing past Blaise as roughly as she could. She shoved past servants and Lords and Ladies, ignored Pansy's tittering with her sycophants. She pushed past guards and Aurors, practically blowing past Lord Crouch and Lord Dolohov as she approached the eagle. She pulled her wand swiftly, ripping at the wards that kept her out, tearing at them, her raw magic welling inside of her, welling with her rage.

The wards healed themselves just as much as she tore at them but, it was just enough for the eagle to leap aside for a moment to allow her entry. Hermione stormed past, running up the stairs. She lit the way with an unsaid _Lumos_ , and when she emerged in the council room—Draco's office—she allowed herself to breathe.

"What are you doing in here?" Draco snarled.

He sounded more like the man she had known before Goyle had died. Petulant and whiny. An overgrown man-child.

"Your _mother_ moved up our wedding," Hermione hissed.

Draco stood from behind his desk. Hermione noticed the shattered inkwells against the walls, the broken bobbles, the torn and hastily fixed paintings. The fury that painted the room. So, he knew. Of course, he knew before she did. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if Narcissa had kept it from her until the wedding day.

"I'm aware. I'm not pleased either but, I'm the King. You do not show up here—" Draco began.

"No."

The growl was low and infinite. Draco paused.

"No?" he repeated.

"No," Hermione bit out. "I want to go home."

And she had said it. She had finally said it.

Draco looked at her as if he had never seen her before. Hermione imagined that he hadn't. He had never seen Hermione in all her glory, and full of anger. He had never seen the edge of desperation that had lurked in her chest, like a shard of broken glass, since her father had died. No, Draco hadn't ever seen her before.

"You have your wand," he noticed, sounding almost lost. Hermione looked down at her wand, dangling from her fingers, and she flung it up, pointing at him, as he walked closer to her. "How did you get your wand?"

And he continued walking, towards her, unafraid. Hermione's eyes slammed shut.

"You will not _touch_ me."

"I'm not."

Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes and she stared. Her wand tip was pressed against Draco's chin. He wasn't moving, his hands up on either side of his head.

"I could kill you," she ground out. "I could end you and end the suffering of this country."

Draco's lips twitched into a terrible smile. "I don't want you either, you know. But, you're good for me. That's what my mother says. They hate me but, they love _you_ even more."

Hermione snarled at him, the words on the tip of her tongue.

"I've read about the Killing Curse. You have to _mean_ it," Hermione whispered, full of a terribly ugly hatred, one that she had never felt for anyone before. "You've tormented me from the moment we met. You've beaten me. Humiliated me. _Degraded_ me. I would mean it."

Draco hummed, and his lips curled into that sharp, cruel smile that had made her curious to begin with. She hated that smile.

"This was why...I wanted you," Draco murmured. "This is why I won't let you go."

"Why?" Hermione barked.

Draco tilted his head. "What an ugly, ugly throne. And how ugly it has made me," Draco whispered. "You were beautiful. You were once beautiful so, so beautiful. I saw you and was bewitched. And you were kind once too. When I met you. Brash and _rude_ but, kind. Beautiful. The Fairest is beautiful too. But, this throne...how ugly."

" _Why_ won't you let me go?" Hermione barked.

Draco laughed, soft and cruel. "You think I am done playing games? My mother was a busy woman. My father was a coward. My uncle ignored me. One aunt ran away. The other was so mad I don't think she knew who the _fuck_ I was. All I did as a child...was play games. All by myself."

Hermione pressed the tip of her wand deeper against his jugular, pressing hard.

"You were a prince. You don't know what being alone means," Hermione snarled.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow, so pale one could barely see it.

"Pansy? Goyle? Crabbe? I suppose. But, everyone leaves, Hermione, and I am tired of playing games by myself," Draco taunted, as he stepped closer, shuddering at the pain. Hermione's eyes widened when she smelled the scent of burning flesh. She jerked her wand back and stare at the blister. It would scar.

"This is not a game. This is a _war_ ," Hermione snapped.

Draco's smile widened into a broken grin, full of desperation and mirror shards. "But, it is. It's a game. And this ugly, ugly throne has made me so ugly. It'll make you ugly too. So, let's play the game, Hermione Granger. Tell me...are you having fun yet?"

Hermione ran.

 **ALL?**

It was cold here.

Though he could sometimes see the summer sun, through the haze of clouds, it was always cold. Winter was always here. He had not felt anything but winter in a long, long time. Sometimes, he didn't think he remembered anything else—as if he had been born into hell, and hell was not fire but, ice. Always ice.

When he remembered that he had been from another time, another place, he remembered the comfort that fire had brought him, once upon a time.

Fire reminded him of a little boy with long black hair. A little boy that had always nipped at his heels, declaring that he'd be an Auror too. Just a child but, the true apple of their mother's eye. He had never minded for fire reminded him of summer lilies and grass. Howls at the moon, and running through the Forest in the shape of wild things. Hazel eyes and brash laughter. A band of brothers, and a girl with flags of fire streaming from her hair, pooling around her feet. And then, he remembered the terrible things too. The blood. The way her open chest must've looked, a mess of ivory smeared red with blood, an emptiness where her generous heart should have been.

And the boy.

 _Wildfyre_ , he thought.

Sometimes, a voice, not his own or any of the other voices in his head—a voice that looked like pale hair and mirror eyes—whispered, _No. Wyrdfod_.

But, he knew him as Wildfyre. He imagined what that boy would've looked like when he was a man. Most probably tall and broad-shouldered, like his father. Hazel eyes or green? Hazel, like James. A square jaw like James. Tan-skinned like James. Wildfyre...perhaps, red hair. That would be it. Red hair for the Phoenix.

But, that boy was dead, and he wept with grief.

When he cried, it kept the dementors away. Dementors...they had liked him at first. But, now he was a broken thing, made of grief and bones, and there was no more happiness to eat. He was a carcass, devoid of meat or life. The walking dead.

Sirius Black shivered in the corner of his cell and looked out. The summer sun was smiling today.

But, he was so cold.

:::

 **A/N:** Hello! Well, here I am with a chapter finished EARLY for once. I did promise someone that I'd try to get this out by Thursday night, so I've done it. I hope you enjoyed it! I worked super hard on it to get it out, and I actually read it over for once instead of just going through it with Grammarly. So, I think it flows pretty well since I rearranged some scenes.

Now, I've recently looked at my outline and I was SHOCKED when I realized that after this chapter, I only have 4 more chapters and an interlude before the next arc. I'm super excited! I have the entirety planned out, and I think it would be safe to say that the climax is finally being truly built, with the introduction of our final new character of this arc: Sirius Black. I've been hinting at him for quite some time and I hope that you're glad to see him because _I'm_ glad to see him.

And, the next chapter is currently being written so, I'll say goodbye to you all! Until next time! Please review!


	27. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hermione held her hands still in her lap as she watched the woman work. The gown was going to be lovely, that much Hermione knew. Madam Malkin was a renowned robe-maker throughout the world. Fleur used to go on and on about her. Hermione wondered what Fleur was doing then, once more. She wondered if Fleur and Gabrielle were happy. Once, Hermione had cursed Fleur's name for what had become of her. Now, Hermione knew that it was all her own doing.

She would play the game.

"It looks promising," Hermione said, politely. She glanced over at Narcissa. The older woman was sipping her goblet of wine as she read over scrolls, looking up from her work every so often to regard Hermione and judge Madam Malkin's progress.

Hermione wasn't lying either. It was a modest gown of lace and silk, high-necked and cinched tight around the waist to emphasize her thin waist. The sleeves were long and open, dragging on the floor. They would drag even though Hermione was tall, nearly of a height with her future husband. The word itself made her want to spew bile. She pushed it aside and glanced at the green scarf that was being made by Madam Malkin's assistant.

When that scarf was draped over her shoulders, then she would belong to Draco's family. She'd be a Slytherin. Her stomach turned.

Hermione hadn't wanted to get married but, if she had, she had wanted it to be like the old ways. A knot tied around their hands, binding them for eternity. She had always thought that it seemed terribly romantic though a bit illogical.

"It's gorgeous," Narcissa corrected. "You will be a beautiful bride."

Hermione's eyes widened. The words were nearly kind though Narcissa said it as if it were mere fact instead of a compliment. Narcissa's lips didn't twitch into a smile but her eyes glistened with cruel amusement as she looked at her future daughter.

"I never wanted to be a bride," Hermione said, slowly.

"What did you want to be?" Narcissa asked.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "A scholar," she allowed. "I wanted to study and to learn and to never stop. I wanted to know everything in the world. But, I suppose, you would think this a childish and unrealistic dream."

"Unrealistic but, not childish," Narcissa retorted. She seemed amused when Hermione looked at her with surprise. "I know all about dreams, sweet child, and wanting to know the world. You will find marriage will teach you much."

"Marriage? What will I learn from marriage?" Hermione snapped.

And Narcissa laughed, dark and heady. "A marriage is a private thing. It has its own laws and secret histories and savage acts. We look terrible to you, and severe, but it is all hard won. After all, there is only one question in a house: who is to rule."

And Hermione could imagine what was going through Narcissa's head. She still underestimated her, thinking that Draco would rule. Draco, who viewed everything as one great game. But, no, Hermione knew better. Hermione was a better player, by far. She would be the one to rule.

So, she smirked and scoffed, nodding though she filed the information away for later. Let Narcissa think she was a bullheaded, stupid girl—which she might have once been. Hermione would be the one to survive in the end.

"You are beautiful," Narcissa repeated. "You should pray, sweet girl."

"Pray for what?" Hermione retorted.

"Pray that you shall never be more beautiful than me," Narcissa hummed and in that moment, she looked more like her siblings than she ever had. Hermione had always thought it odd that she was like ice, pale and beautiful, while her siblings were dark and war-like.

In that moment, Hermione saw a war in Narcissa's eyes.

"I doubt that I could ever be more beautiful thank you," Hermione said, truthful. "I'm more dementor than beauty."

Narcissa hummed, looking away just as the door creaked open. Hermione's lips curled into a sneer as Blaise paraded into the room, as if he owned the place. He nodded curtly to Narcissa, and Hermione saw that he was surprised by Narcissa's presence. She leaned forward, intrigued by how the interaction would go.

"Lady Narcissa, I didn't expect you to be attending, personally, to my sister's wedding fittings," Blaise said, pleasantly, his lips pulled into a cat-like smile.

Narcissa looked at him, unamused. "I will be attending, personally, to every aspect of my only son's wedding. Does that seem surprising to you, Lord Zabini?" Narcissa asked, coolly and Hermione's lips curled into a grin against her will when she saw Blaise swallow.

He was intimidated by Narcissa, and who wouldn't be.

Blaise had years of being a conniving, manipulative little shit.

Narcissa had decades.

"Yes, well. I wanted to check in with my sister. See how the proceedings were going. You'll look lovely, Hermione," Blaise said, pleasantly. Hermione gave a tight, bitter smile. "I did advise on a more Republic style. Of course, to remind everyone that you are, in fact, of foreign origin, and _proud,_ with all the resources you shall be bringing into the family."

Narcissa hummed. "Ah, Madam Malkin got the note. I revised it," Narcissa said, slowly turning back to look at her scrolls.

Hermione felt a rush of pride. Narcissa had deigned to give Hermione all of her attention. She treated Blaise like a pet underfoot, barely worthy of eye contact.

"May I ask why?" Blaise snapped.

Narcissa slowly looked up again, her eyes flashing. "Lady Granger is bringing gold to the family, true. But, it is not gold we need. We are making her a _Slytherin_ —an Albion. And this fitting is for those of Albion. That is all, Lord Zabini."

Blaise ground his teeth and nodded once before storming out of the room, throwing it shut. Narcissa let out a tiny sound of amusement.

"He used to torment me," Hermione blurted out.

Narcissa looked down at her scrolls again. "I know."

"Then...then why did you dismiss him?" Hermione asked, softly.

Narcissa stood, suddenly, gathering her scrolls in her arms and moved towards the doors. She didn't look back when she said, "I had an older sibling once too. Bellatrix was not always kind either."

 **MIRROR**

Tonks smiled, softly as she watched the pair of them. Teddy giggled loudly, running away from the growling mess of a man, throwing himself upon Tonks' bed and crawling into her lap. Tonks laughed as Remus skidded to a stop at the edge of the bed, playfully growling. He swiped for Teddy's chubby little leg, ignoring the little boy's protest, choked by laughter. Tonks' smile widened even more.

"You'll give him a complex," Tonks teased.

Remus immediately shed his wolf persona and raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think so?" he drawled but, Tonks could hear the worry in his voice as they looked at their toddler, their sweet little Teddy.

"No, I don't. He knows what you are. And what he is. Really, the fact that he's the son of a Slytherin has more of a chance of giving him a complex," Tonks said, self-deprecatingly. She ignored the put-out look on Remus' face, looking back down at Teddy. She pasted a smile on her face. "Oh, my love, are you afraid of Remus?"

His face was hidden in her shoulder but, she could feel his smile against her skin.

"Yes! I'm 'fraid," he lied, smothering his giggles against her skin.

Tonks snorted. "You're afraid of your papa, but you aren't afraid of Andromeda?"

Teddy pulled back, his brows pulled down into a little frown. It was so cute that Tonks had to hide her smile. Teddy didn't appreciate being treated like a child when he was frustrated or upset.

"Nan Romy give me toys!" Teddy whined and then he rolled off of Tonks' lap and tucked himself into Remus' side. Remus looked down at him, eyes wide and soft. Tonks sighed, shaking her head. Even after having him for years, Remus was still in awe whenever Teddy went to him.

"He loves you, Remus," Tonks reminded the man.

Remus looked down at the boy with a soft smile. "I don't know why. I'm not around very often."

"Neither am I. We have a war to win. To make the world better for our son," Tonks insisted, reaching forward and brushing her fingers over Remus' lined cheek. Remus flinched at her touch but he didn't pull away. Not like how he used to.

"Your son," Remus corrected, softly. "You found him."

Tonks' eyes narrowed at his words and she gathered Teddy's hand in hers and brought it to her lips. Teddy looked at her wide eyes.

"Who am I, my dear?" Tonks asked, pointing to herself.

Teddy whined. "Mama Dowa," he whined, trying to pull himself away, wanting to play and climb atop Remus' head again. Tonks didn't allow it, tugging him closer to her and turning him to face Remus.

"And who is he?"

"Papa!" Teddy shrieked.

Remus looked stricken. Tonks' lips curled into a soft smile and she nodded, pressing a kiss to the crown of Teddy's hair, burying her face in his unwieldy turquoise locks.

"Very good, my dear. Mama Dora and Papa. Now, go play with your toys," Tonks murmured. Teddy scrambled from her lap, bouncing off the bed towards the toys. She looked up at Remus, a solemn look in her eyes. Remus stared as if he'd never seen the two of them before. "We're _your_ family, Remus. He is your son. Our son. And we are making a better world for him. Do you understand me?"

Remus trembled, pulling his feet underneath him as he rocked forward before pulling himself back. Tonks felt a wave of sadness crash over her. Remus never let himself have the things he deserved. She wasn't sure if it was out of grief or as penance for his imagined sins.

"What if we die?" Remus whispered.

And it wasn't the first time that Remus had asked her that question. The first mission they had had together—to take out Abraxas Malfoy, a longtime supporter of Voldemort—he had turned to her and asked her the same question. Tonks had stared at him and thought how this man didn't look like he would've minded dying. Even then, he had wallowed in his grief, letting it eat him alive.

"Then, we die," Tonks said, solemnly, just as she had said then. She paused, her brow furrowing. "When...when I was with Pandora, she used to ask me all the time what do we say to the Stranger, Death? And the answer: not today. Today isn't the day, Remus. We all die. One day. But, today, you are _here._ With your family. Do you love us?"

Remus flushed, his cheeks pink. "I...what...I," he sputtered.

"We love you," Tonks said, firmly. "I love you. I'm _in love_ with you. And that won't ever change, even if you aren't ready to say it back."

"It still hurts," Remus said. "I had a family once. My brothers. A sister. Taken away from me by...your uncle. Your mother."

"Do you blame me?" Tonks said, not unreasonably. She could understand the need to place the blame somewhere. The gods knew that she blamed Pandora for many things, things that weren't all her fault but, things there were too. Tonks hesitated. She hadn't thought about Pandora so much in a long time.

"No. Of course not. I could never blame you," Remus said, rushed and stumbling over his words. Tonks nodded, a dry smile on her face.

"We're not replacing the family you've lost, Remus. We're just...additions. And it's okay not to be over it. You don't ever have to be. I still...my father's absence still hurts," Tonks said, honestly and she looked away. "It's hard. To see _him_ here."

"I hate him," Remus whispered like a secret.

Tonks smirked. "We all do, Remus. There's only one person in the world capable of loving someone like that. And it isn't any of us. It's okay to hate him."

"I would kill him if I could," Remus murmured as he looked at Teddy playing with his little carved dolls and soldiers. "How...that man has done heinous things. Things he can _never_ atone for. He hasn't suffered the way we have. How can we allow him to live in the same world as our _son?_ "

And Tonks looked at the man she loved as if she didn't have a secret. As if she didn't know that the Dark Lord would suffer. He would suffer a story told long ago. He would suffer as all Fateborn did. It was coming as fast as a reflection in a mirror.

Instead, she smiled sadly. "We need him. _Harry_ needs him."

"And when Harry doesn't want him?" Remus asked.

Tonks' eyes flashed to the crimson cloak draped over the loveseat. Her lips twitched into a small smile. "Oh, love, Harry's always going to want him. The better question is, what happens when Harry doesn't _need_ him?"

 **MIRROR**

Fleur pulled her hood over her head, glancing over her shoulder for the third time as she waited for the older man to finish going over the paperwork. She shivered though she was not cold and pressed her wand deeper into her thigh, tracing imaginary patterns. It was an old habit, one from when she had first gotten a wand. Her father had warned her about it, telling her that she was going to blow her leg off but, anxiety brought back all her bad habits.

"Now, Miss Delacour, I want to ask you again. Do you know what this paperwork means?" the portly man asked.

Fleur scowled. "Yes, I know what it means," she snapped, her accent slightly thicker with her irritation. "I have successfully run a shop for years. Of course, I know what it means."

"I only ask because my daughter truly enjoys your work, Miss. I know that she'll be dreadfully sad about your...retirement," the man said, delicately, and Fleur forced a tired smile on her face. She nodded in understanding.

"I...I believe that it's time for a move," Fleur excused, demurely. "I only ask that you allow me to live in the upstairs room until I secure passage somewhere else."

"Yes, yes, of course. Where will you go?" he asked.

"I...don't know yet. Perhaps Alfheim or the City-States. Albion is not safe. Not with a war brewing," Fleur said and the portly man nodded in blustering understanding, waving and flapping his hands as he drew himself up to blabber.

"Yes, yes. I would think Albion. After all, your friend, Hermione Granger—"

"Hermione is to be Queen of Albion. She will be fine," Fleur forced out. She sounded so sure that she nearly convinced herself. Her visions echoed in her head, taunting her, and her smile grew tighter as she looked at the older man.

"You're right, you're right. Merlin, a Muggleborn has come so far, hasn't she? Barely a step above creatures and she's to be Queen. My, my, how the world changes," the portly man said, cheerfully, ignoring the way Fleur watched him, malice lurking in her eyes.

Her hand tightened around her wand.

"Where do I sign?" Fleur asked instead, reaching for the quill. The portly man slid the contract over to her, pointing to the lines.

"There. Initial there," he said. Fleur did as she was bid, immediately, not a single moment of hesitation in her eyes. "Why will you not stay with your sister and her husband?"

"I do not wish to interfere. After all, I practically raised the girl. Why would she want her sister-cum-adoptive-mother in her marriage home?" Fleur said, faking a tittering laugh and the portly man boomed out a laugh in agreement. Fleur stared down at the drying ink, her stomach lurching as she realized what she had just done.

She had sold her mother's dress shop. Her mother's dress shop that had been her mother's before her. Fleur couldn't quite find it in herself to regret it.

"Too true, indeed. Well, this has been a lucrative deal, I must say, Miss Delacour. Now, the payment…" he said.

Fleur slammed her hand on the table, making the portly man jump. She looked at him, unflinching.

"I need you to pay me in Sickles," Fleur said. She looked at the man with a furrowed brow. "Or...mostly in Sickles. I need 50 galleons, and the rest in Sickles. Is that alright?"

The portly man looked at her, absolutely bewildered. Fleur didn't budge. She watched as he counted out the galleons, sliding them into one burlap sack and then began the tedious task of converting the rest of the payment into Sickles. Fleur watched with a grim look on her face. When he was done counting and slid the silver into a second bag, Fleur stood at once and nodded at him with a small smile.

"I will make your daughter a wardrobe fit for a queen while I am here as thanks. You have done me a great service, sir," Fleur said, firmly, and before he could ask, she turned on her heel and flew from the study, practically running out of the house after snatching her money.

She fought back her tears as she pounded down the long road and practically skidded to a stop. There was no time for her tears. Not yet, anyway. There was work to be done. Fleur grabbed onto her hood to keep it atop her head, and she walked into the smithy, her head bent low. She ignored the stares from some of the smiths, walking deeper into the scorching room.

By the time she reached the man she searched for, sweat poured from her brow.

"Are you...are you Unferth?" Fleur asked, softly.

The man didn't look up, only slamming his heavy hammer atop the blade that he built. He was a broad, terrifying man, with a blonde beard covered in ash. If he tried, he might be able to break Fleur in two but, Fleur was a desperate woman, and the Veela part of her rippled under her skin. Fleur winced, tugging her hood down lower.

"Who's asking?" the man growled.

"A woman with a lot of money," Fleur snapped back, and the man slowly looked up. His eyes widened as he caught sight of her face.

"Fleur Delacour," he murmured, looking over her with the gaze of a man. Fleur's lips curled back into a sneer. "What's a pretty thing like you doing in the smithy."

"You're the best swordsmith within thousands of miles. I need you to make me a sword," Fleur barked and Unferth's lips twitched into a mocking smile.

"I'm sorry to say, sweet Fleur, a dressmaker's salary ain't getting you a sword."

He turned back to look at his work until Fleur tossed down her bag of silver, staring at him.

"There are over a thousand Sickles in there," Fleur said firmly. "I want a sword. Made of silver. Anything left, you keep."

Unferth looked up at her with wide eyes. Fleur stared back at him, unflinching.

" _Where_ did you get this kind of money?" he hissed.

"I sold my shop," Fleur said. "Now. You make me a sword. A sword that a young woman about four inches shorter than me could wield. One and a half hands. I need it within a month's time."

Unferth was barely paying any mind, looking through the burlap bag as if he couldn't believe it.

"A thousand Sickles…" he breathed.

Fleur nodded once and she took a step back. "Unferth...make the sword. I need it. Before the next full moon."

 **ON**

"You stand in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, the Wyrdfod, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Afallon, the Alpha of the Pride, and the Fairest-of-Them-All."

Severus looked at the young man for a long moment. Harry Wildfyre stood on the edge of the cliffs, just outside the shadow of his massive dragon, his face still as he surveyed the Death Eaters that the Dark Lord had brought before him. Nymphadora Tonks stood at his side, clearing her throat after her announcement, watching them with expectation.

"My Lord?" Barty murmured.

Lord Voldemort nodded once, never taking his eyes away from Harry.

"You may approach, Death Eaters" Harry Wildfyre called.

Lucius was the first to march forward, unhesitant as he moved towards the King. Severus was only a second behind, and so the rest fell in line. The Dark Lord outpaced Lucius, coming to stand before the King, towering over him. Harry's lips twitched into a quiet smile.

" _Melui_ - _âr,_ " Voldemort said, softly. Harry's smile widened for just a moment. There was mischief there.

" _Muin nín,_ " he responded.

Voldemort's lips curled into a sneer and Harry let out a harsh bark of laughter before schooling his face. Nymphadora Tonks rolled her eyes but remained as impassive as she could. The Dark Lord stepped to Harry's left, watching his Death Eaters.

"Your Lord brings you before me for one reason. You will bend the knee to me and pledge your loyalty to my cause," Harry Wildfyre called.

"And if we disagree?" Yaxley asked, as stone-like as ever.

Harry looked at all of them, his eyes narrowed to show that he was not amused by the immediate disagreement. Severus sighed.

"That isn't an option," the Dark Lord said, coldly. "Your will is bound to mine. It is my will that you bend the knee."

"Yes, my Lord," Rookwood said, hastily. Rookwood stepped forward, looking carefully at Harry Wildfyre, as if measuring him up. Harry's lips twitched into a small smile, and Rookwood looked dazed for just a moment before he gathered himself and knelt on one knee. "I, Augustus of House Rookwood, swear fealty unto you."

As Rookwood swore, Yaxley stepped forward and did the same. Harry cataloged each one as they swore fealty to him. The youngest of them, Barty Crouch, followed after. Harry's eyes flickered over the man's lean form and boyish face, appreciatively. Barty drawled out his swears of fealty, grinning up at Harry while he did so. Tom's face turned down with ill humor as Harry's lips quirked into a tiny smile.

"Thank you for your fealty, Barty Crouch," Harry drawled as he walked past the young Death Eater.

"You're welcome, your Grace," Barty said, a smirk turning up his lips.

"Gods above," Tom snarled under his breath and Harry snorted, shaking his head as he continued on to a pair of twins, marked as Carrows by their blood-red hair and pocked faces. Alecto had a particularly cruel smile in place on her face while Amycus looked wane, with a thin face.

Harry knew that these two would be his main concerns. Tom had assured him that all would fall in line but, Minerva, Tonks, and Ron had told him that the twins had a penchant for torture, especially of Muggles. They were bigots and bullies, and Harry liked neither.

"I, Alecto of House Carrow, swear fealty unto you," the woman said first.

Harry nodded and looked to Amycus.

"I, Amycus of House Carrow, swear fealty unto you," he said, his voice reedy and strange. It wasn't what Harry would've expected from a man known for his brutality.

"Thank you. I accept your fealty," Harry said, stiffly, moving on. He paused when he looked one of the last men. He was a small, round man, with watery eyes and thin, wispy hair. His nose twitched like a rat's. He had never seen the man in his life and yet, he knew. He knew him, immediately. Harry looked over his shoulder. Remus wasn't there. "You're Peter Pettigrew."

"I-I...I am," Peter Pettigrew said, stammering before he gathered himself up, swelling with misplaced pomp. He looked down his small twitching nose though Harry was taller than him.

Harry tilted his head, curiously. "You were their friend. And you betrayed them."

"Harry. You look so much like your father. So much like James but...but with Lily's eyes," Peter said, nervously.

"Take their names out of your mouth," Harry said, softly as he regarded this small, little man. "You betrayed them."

"T-the Dark Lord, h-he's very...and he offered me…" Peter stuttered.

Harry slowly shook his head. "No. You should've died. To protect them. You should've died. But, you didn't. And you're here. So, you will bend the knee to me. Now," Harry said and the pitiful little man nodded, falling to his knees and bending his head even as he trembled. Harry couldn't find himself to hate him, only feeling saddened that the downfall of his parents all led back to the tiny man in front of him without a spine.

Harry looked over his shoulder at Tom. He felt a rush of affection and equal measures of disgust. Peter Pettigrew had betrayed his parents and yet, wasn't Harry doing the same? Falling in love with his parents' murderer. His stomach turned at the thought.

"I-I, Peter P-Pettigrew, swear fealty unto you," Pettigrew stammered.

"Leave," Harry whispered. "Go back to wherever you came from. And don't come back until you're called. I don't want Remus to see you."

The man looked up at him with wide eyes and disappeared with a crack. Harry stared at the spot that Pettigrew had been in for a long moment, emotions swirling through him. A wry smile twisted his lips. How weak he was, that he couldn't even look at Pettigrew because it made him reflect on his own faults. How _weak._

"Pettigrew is a coward, but, he has done great work for our Lord," Snape said, his lips curled.

Harry looked up, suddenly. "I don't want him here," he said, softly, his brow furrowed. He turned towards Lucius and Severus. "It's only you two now. You would swear loyalty unto me?"

"As my Lord commands," Lucius said, settling on one knee. "I, Lucius of House Malfoy, Lord of Wiltshire swear my fealty unto you."

Harry nodded in acceptance and then turned to Snape.

Snape gritted his teeth. "I, Severus Snape of Spinner's End, swear my fealty unto you."

Harry turned away and looked at Tonks. "Show our friends their accommodations. I am...in need of a moment."

"Your Grace?" Tom said, quietly, taking a step forward. Harry raised his hand, stopping him.

"A moment without you, thanks," Harry said as softly as he could. Tom stopped abruptly and nodded once, suddenly stiff. Harry turned around and walked quickly away. He stopped before going to Westeron and went around the side of the castle, his intent clear. He looked at the great scaled dragon, curled up, her eyes closed but still awake. "Freia!"

Freia opened one lazy eye and gave a soft snort. Harry walked forward, unafraid and pressed his forehead against the heat of her scales. He reveled in it, how she burned as hot as him, how he could forget when he was with her.

"Freia...I can't do this," he confessed to her side and she purred under his touch, wrapping around his body, encasing him in warmth. He sunk to his knees. "I don't know what I'm doing."

She didn't answer.

 **THE**

Harry was tired of all the waiting and the pomp and circumstance. And yet, here he was again, feeling very much like he was being presented like a prized pet. He tried hard not to roll his eyes as Tonks recited his ridiculous length of titles and he nodded like an automaton when Griphook bowed to him, presenting the chests of gold. Harry looked at all of them, Bill practically right on his heels.

15 chests, all equalling out to make the promised million Galleons. Harry had never seen so much gold in his life. He stood from the onyx throne that didn't feel quite right to get a closer look.

"Your Grace, where shall I put the gold?" Bill asked, softly.

Harry gestured vaguely over to Andromeda and Regulus who watched with equal appreciation as the rest. Even Andromeda, a member of the wealthiest family in Albion, was impressed by the sheer amount of gold presented to them.

"Westeron's vaults will do. You're a curse-breaker. Curse them. Anyone touches them that isn't you or I, and they suffer. Understood?" Harry asked, clearly.

Bill's eyes widened but he nodded once in understanding. "Understood. I'll get some trolls, Hagrid, and my brothers to assist me," Bill said. He turned to Andromeda. "Will you lead the way, Lady Warden?"

"Absolutely," Andromeda said, with her carefully unaffected voice.

Harry turned away as they began to work out logistics, looking at the envoy that Gringotts had sent to accompany the gold that had been loaned to Harry and his followers. Griphook looked like any average goblin, short with long twisted ears and a gnarled face.

"Griphook, welcome to Westeron Castle. We hope you enjoy your stay," Harry said, diplomatically.

Griphook looked at him, carefully, as if considering him, but he made no sign of encouragement.

"I have never been to Afallon. Very few goblins have ventured out of our land in Karnaron," Griphook volunteered, carefully. Harry nodded in understanding.

"I see. Well, right this way. Your journey was long, and I'm sure you and your...men, are quite hungry," Harry said, leading Griphook from the Throne Hall to the Dining Hall. He hoped that his hesitation wasn't so obvious as he regarded the goblins dressed in armor that looked around as if they were ready to be attacked at any moment. Constant vigilance, indeed.

"My men will leave the second the chests are locked away in the vaults. However, I will dine with you," Griphook said, gruffly. Harry nodded again and led the way—a small party made of Tonks, Kingsley, Madame McGonagall, and Ron, at his back. "I am surprised that the Dark Lord is not here. I remember he accompanied you to Gringotts."

"Ah, yes. The Dark Lord is otherwise occupied with settling his Death Eaters here and training alongside Prince Cedric of Alfheim's Adored Ones. If you'll forgive me, the Prince and Princess Consort of Alfheim will be joining us for our meal," Harry said as pleasantly as possible. He would give Griphook no reason to believe that there were ulterior motives though he knew Griphook would believe there to be. Goblins were untrustworthy creatures, and they had good reason to be.

"Very well, Harry Wildfyre," Griphook said, his lips curled. He looked over at Tonks. "Nymphadora Tonks, we meet again. The crimson cloak suits you well."

"Don't pretend you know what my cloak means," Tonks drawled, her eyes straight ahead. Harry cast her a warning look but, she paid it no mind. "You all are gossips. You know nothing."

"I suppose we don't," Harry said, pointedly, and finally, Tonks flushed, just a bit, pink staining her cheeks.

"What would you have done, Harry Wildfyre, if we had not granted your loan?" Griphook asked.

"Stolen, I suppose," Harry said, honestly.

McGonagall startled, looking over at him. "Harry," she began but, Griphook cut her off.

"Broken in? Into Gringotts? It is impossible," the goblin said, firmly.

"I'm used to accomplishing impossible things."

"You would've had no chance," Griphook said flatly. "No chance at all. 'If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours'."

"'Thief, you have been warned, beware'. Yes, against popular belief, I can read," said Harry, dryly. "But, I'm not trying to get myself any treasure for personal gain. I'm trying to save four countries. And you were making it very, very hard for me. But, I did what your King asked. Andromeda Slytherin bent the knee. The creatures call me Wyrdfod. Alfheim has come to me with allyship. As I said, I'm used to accomplishing impossible things."

Griphook looked at him, dryly impressed and nodded as they continued towards the Dining Hall.

"If there was a wizard of who I would believe that they did not seek personal gain," Griphook said, finally, "it would be you, Harry Wildfyre. You have shown kindness and respect that creatures do not expect from wand-carriers."

And Harry looked down at the goblin very seriously, coming to a stop just outside the hall where Cedric and Cho waited, ready to persuade the goblin envoy to a loan.

"I swear to you, on my _name_ , that you will never be mistreated here. You will be regarded with the respect all living beings should be regarded with. You are not lesser than me. We are _equals_ ," Harry said firmly. And Griphook looked at him for a long time, his face twisting.

If Harry didn't know better, he'd think the goblin was almost smiling.

 **WALL**

"Hello, sweetling."

Voldemort swept into the room, looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow. The King of Albion sat on the edge of the flat map, swinging his feet that just brushed against the ground. Harry swallowed down any hesitation, crooking his finger forward at the man that he had not had the time to see since the Death Eaters had arrived just days before. Between Griphook and training the troops, they hadn't seen each other except for dinner times and perhaps when they fell to sleep, too tired to do anything but fall into slumber's embrace.

"Oh, I haven't been called that in a long time, _muin nín,_ " Harry said, his lips curling up into a smile as Voldemort walked up to him, stepping into the vee of his legs, long fingers wrapped around his thighs.

The Dark Lord brushed his nose against Harry's, kissing along his cheek, mouthing at the skin where his jaw met his neck. Harry leaned back on his hands, arching his neck. Tom's hands slid up and down Harry's thighs, teasing him, taunting him.

"You taste so sweet, Harry," Tom murmured against his ear, sucking gently on his earlobe. Harry mewled softly and Tom's grin widened. "I've tasted you everywhere. The most _private_ —"

"Tom," Harry warned, panting. "Don't start something you can't finish."

Tom hummed as Harry dragged his hands up the man's back.

"Oh, you'll finish. And so will I. Preferably, inside of you," Tom growled and Harry snorted as he slotted their mouths together, hungrily licking into the Dark Lord's mouth.

Tom returned as good as he got, their lips moving together. Tom hitched Harry's thighs up around his waist and drew him closer, one hand holding onto the small of his back and the other tangled in his messy hair. Harry wound his arms around Tom's neck, moaning into the filthy kiss. Everywhere Harry touched, Tom's skin was on fire. The Fairest was a greedy lover, and Tom liked it, for once. Harry pulled back, panting hard, his cheeks flushed.

"Fuck me," Harry said, immediately.

Tom's eyes brightened. "As you w—"

The door swung open and crashed into the wall with a loud crack. Harry flinched away from Tom so hard that he stumbled off the table, straightening his robes and running a hand through his messy hair. Tom's eyes narrowed.

"Andromeda," he drawled.

"Brother," Andromeda said as she swept inside, waving her wand as she Summoned four chairs to sit right in front of the map. Harry's cheeks were bright red as he looked down, refusing to make eye contact with the woman. "My daughter said that the King entered and you followed quickly after. I thought it prudent to warn you that the Council, along with the Prince of Alfheim, Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, and Rodolphus Lestrange await entry to the war room."

Harry nodded, turning his back on the two Slytherins and clearing his throat. "I...er...yes. We weren't doing anything wrong," he blurted out.

Andromeda snorted and Tom sighed.

"Harry…" he sighed, shaking his head.

Harry turned back around, his face now only a light pink.

"We _weren't_ ," Harry insisted.

Andromeda hummed. "Your Grace, I can taste your arousal in the air. My brother was about to fuck you over this war table. Alas, there is work to be done."

"Shut up, Dromeda. You speak out of turn," Tom said, snippily as he took Harry by the arm and guided him to their chairs. He paused as he looked at the King. Harry was nibbling on his kiss-swollen bottom lip and Tom groaned. It was red and spit-slicked and Tom wanted to _bite_ him.

"What?" Harry asked, quietly.

Tom didn't answer, only grabbing him by the chin and giving him a filthy kiss, sucking and biting his bottom lip. Harry groaned into his mouth.

"Brother, keep your _cock_ in your trousers, gods," Andromeda berated.

Harry flinched, jerking away from Tom and shaking himself. " _Tom_ , you can't just...in front of your _sister_?"

"My sister has caught me balls-deep in a woman before," Tom drawled as he turned to Andromeda, his eyes full of a challenge. Andromeda sneered back at him as she went back to the door, and nodded, most probably to her daughter.

Tonks entered first, moving towards her seat, her red cloak dragging behind her.

"Are you _done_?" Tonks said, snippily.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Just about, yeah," he retorted.

Tonks' lips curled into a smile as she bumped into his side, lightly. The rest followed suit and Harry smiled at them all. He gave a jaunty wave to Cedric as he sat down and winked at Anthony, who stood behind Cedric's seat. Anthony's cheeks turned pink and it made Harry's smile widen. He nodded at Severus, Lucius, and Rodolphus. Severus and Lucius sat, leaving a final seat for Andromeda while Rodolphus elected to stand. McGonagall looked over at Harry, expectantly.

"I call this meeting to order," Harry said, firmly, watching the map ripple and change to suit his needs. He relaxed as he looked around the table. "Welcome to my table, Death Eaters."

"Thank you for the invitation, your Grace," Severus said, and Harry's eyes narrowed at the careful vitriol dripping from the man's tongue. Utterly polite but no one could mistake his tone for anything but contempt. Harry cleared his throat and looked away from him.

"Tonks, you received intel," Harry said.

Tonks nodded once. "Aye. The wedding has been moved up."

Tom and his Death Eaters startled.

"Narcissa has told me no such thing," Lucius protested.

"You abandoned your wife. Of course, she hasn't told you anything," Tom snarled as he rounded on his niece, his nostrils flared with fury. His hands were clenched tight on the armrests, knuckles bone white with fury. "What do you mean she has moved up? It was to be a long engagement."

"Hermione Granger must be proving dangerous," Andromeda murmured to herself. The others looked at her with varying degrees of surprise. "She is an intelligent girl. Perhaps, she's learned to play the game."

"She's a fool. And foreign," Tom barked.

Cedric's eyes narrowed. "My Lord, her foreignness does not mean she cannot play the game of court," he retorted and Tom sneered.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Watch yourself, Cedric. You are a guest in _my_ empire, and Lord Voldemort is _my_ Chancellor. If he is to be chastised, I will do so, thank you. And Lord Voldemort, please _do_ stop underestimating people due to their 'otherness'. It's dangerously close to bigotry," Harry said, sharply. Before he could watch Cedric and Tom's indignation, he looked over at McGonagall, his eyes narrowed as her face moved. He knew that expression. She was planning. "What are your thoughts on the matter, Madame?"

"Narcissa will want an Heir, of course. This is logical," McGonagall allowed.

"The people love Hermione Granger," Ginny interjected with wide eyes. The others turned all of their attention to her. "Why wouldn't they?"

"This is true. She is foreign, yes, but new blood is good. Beautiful. A Muggleborn. She's relatable," Bill said. He said the word 'relatable' like it was poison.

"Then why on the Seven's green earth would Cissa tolerate her?" Lucius interjected.

Harry turned sharply on the man. Lucius Malfoy. Sometimes, he forgot that the man had been married to Narcissa Slytherin, though he wasn't sure how. Draco was the spitting image of his father's, in some light, and the spitting image of Narcissa, in others. No matter, Draco had the paleness and sharp face that Lucius possessed. And Lucius possessed intimate knowledge of Harry's opponents.

"Explain," Tonks prompted.

Lucius sneered at her but, did as he was bid. "My Lord, you know Narcissa. She puts as much stock in beauty as you and the late Queen. She will not tolerate someone better-liked, better-loved. After all, when she was insulted gravely, she slew those men in the middle of the court. So, _why_ would she move the wedding?" Lucius challenged.

Severus paused. "Daphne Greengrass."

"All of these names," Harry drawled, shaking his head. "Daphne Greengrass...the girl that was fostered by the Longbottoms. Who are her parents?"

"She's of no noble blood but, the people love her like a Lady," Voldemort said, his brow furrowed. He folded his fingers together. "I never questioned her presence. Essetir was Narcissa's domain and once she had Crouch murder the Longbottoms, it no longer mattered. _They_ no longer mattered."

"Draco is enamored with her. The Greengrass girl. And she is controlled by the Longbottoms. And though Narcissa does not see Granger as a threat, she will see _Augusta_ as a threat," Severus explained and Harry knew that name, nodding quietly. The widowed matron Lady of Longbottom.

"This is the time to act. We strike Hogwarts during the wedding!" Ginny said, firmly, and McGonagall finally looked almost thoughtful at her idea.

"No," Tonks protested. "The wedding is not in the capital."

"Where?" Harry barked.

"Essetir," Lucius murmured. They all turned to look at him. "Crouch is loyal to Narcissa. Narcissa knows Essetir well, just as well as he. They will have it in Essetir, to declare dominance over the region as well as intimidate the Longbottoms."

"Then, we will go to Essetir," Harry decided. He leaned forward, peering over at the map. He lifted his wand, pointing to one particular stronghold. "There...she'll have it there."

"Rowena's haven. It's…" Andromeda said, immediately, and she trailed off, looking at Tom. Tom stared at the grand castle, a strangely blank on his face. Harry looked at the man with a furrowed brow.

"What is it?" Harry murmured.

"Helena was born there," Tom said, coolly. Harry winced, staring at the man. Tom looked up and around at the table, and nodded, slowly. "Narcissa and Helena...were playmates."

Andromeda scoffed. "They were far more than that, Tom. Don't pretend."

"You'd believe a children's story. That they were soulmates?" Tom asked.

"No. I don't believe in stories," Andromeda said, dismissively. "But, Narcissa hasn't been the same since you killed Helena."

"It doesn't matter," Harry snapped before the squabble between siblings could escalate. He looked around at the table and sighed. "I thought it would be there because it's the most easily defendable and it's under Slytherin control. They wouldn't be hosted by another family. It makes the most sense."

"The Essetirenean families aren't all loyal to Narcissa but, they don't have to be," Tonks interjected and the others turned to her, looking with curiosity. "House Longbottom is in shambles, led by a weak Lord and an old woman, and as long as House Crouch is there, everyone else will fall in line."

Harry nodded in understanding.

"We will bring the battle to them. I will declare war before all the noble Houses, and they will no longer be able to ignore my claim," Harry said, firmly.

Severus' lips curled into a sneer. "And how will you assert your dominance?"

"I do not come to destroy their cities, burn down their homes, murder them and orphan their children. I'm not here to murder. I will offer them a choice," Harry said, looking at him with a careful expression. He searched the man, wondering where his disdain came from but could read nothing in those pitch black eyes.

"So, bend the knee or die?" Severus retorted.

"None are innocent in war. They made their choices. Either to side with the Slytherins or to stand idly by. Both are _wrong_. They should've died rather than betray their ideals or good people," Harry said firmly and Severus snorted.

"And you would die, _boy_?" Severus spat.

Tom twitched at the disrespect even as Lucius grabbed onto Severus' wrist.

" _Yes_ ," Harry snarled. He turned to look at all of them, his eyes narrowed. He turned to McGonagall. "We will attack the wedding. We will save the Lady Granger, we will declare war on Draco and Narcissa Slytherin, and we will let the world know that I am _here_."

"Yes, your Grace," McGonagall said, immediately.

"And what about the Death Eaters?" Ginny interjected, her eyes full of mistrust as she looked at the three Death Eaters with distaste. "How do we know where their loyalties to lie?"

"They belong to me," Tom snarled. "They do as I say and I say they follow his Grace."

"And yet, there are Death Eaters missing, Uncle. Ginny raises a point that shouldn't be ignored. They are outsiders. They haven't proven themselves as the Lestranges have," Tonks said, attempting to mediate the rising tensions in the room. She leaned forward, her lips pursed. "Dolohov isn't here. Nor is Rowle or MacNair. How can we be sure that others won't defect?"

"We test them," McGonagall interjected. The others looked at her in surprise.

"They...fight alongside _us_ ," Bill drawled, doubt filling his entire expression.

Cedric cleared his throat, nervously. "They...they are a good asset," he seemed uncomfortable when everyone turned to look at him. "Rodolphus Lestrange and Severus Snape are considered two of the greatest swordsmen in the world. They were all trained by the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard in the world. There's no denying how useful they are. So, give them a trial run."

"A trial run," Harry repeated, softly to himself.

Kingsley leaned forward. "The Parkinsons have been overtaxing the city in their domain to maintain the daughter's lavish lifestyle. She's the King's…" Kingsley trailed off, as if catching the word before it escaped from his tongue. Harry knew what he wanted to call her.

 _Whore._

Harry nodded once. "Then, we send the Parkinsons a message. And the Death Eaters will be at my backs to do it."

 **WHO**

"This is not wise," Moody said, coldly as he looked around at his circle.

Fendwick leaned against the wall, staring out over the camp, his eyes narrowed. McKinnon was as attentive as ever while Vance wrung her hands nervously. Moody turned to look at Minerva. The woman was waiting for his explanation, her eyebrow raised.

"Tell me, Alastor," Minerva said. "Convince me."

Moody scoffed. "I need to _convince_ you? Death Eaters, Minerva. You know as well as I that this will not end well. The 'King' is a fool," Moody said, firmly. Minerva pursed her lips, her hands folded in her lap. "I have turned my head away from this for too long. The King is compromised."

"Madame, the King and Voldemort are fucking," McKinnon announced, her head held high, inflated with self-importance. "We must suspect _everything_ he does."

"We mustn't do anything, Marlene," Minerva scoffed, shaking her head. "Who the King takes to bed will not affect his politics nor will it change him. Do you really think it would?"

"I think he is like every other man. Lead by his cock," McKinnon debated.

"Then you don't know the King at all," Minerva said, dismissively. She ignored McKinnon's flush, turning back to look at Moody. "I must say Alastor, you've convinced me of nothing."

"The Death Eaters are brutish bullies that murdered and tortured the Muggle population of this empire for _fun_ during Bellatrix's reign. They will continue to do the same, no matter that they bent the knee to Harry. Voldemort is the same. He's up to something. Mark my words, Minerva," Moody snarled and Minerva shook her head.

"You are paranoid."

"Constant vigilance," Moody hissed. "If Albus had been vigilant, he wouldn't have been _killed_."

"Don't use Albus to justify your words," Minerva retorted. "Yes, I have doubted Harry, many times, through this journey. But, he has proven himself, over and over again. The Unbreakable Vow is, as I said, _unbreakable_. The Death Eaters are loyal to Voldemort, who is loyal to Harry."

"Voldemort is _manipulating_ him," McKinnon interjected.

Minerva rolled her eyes.

"Minerva, you can't pretend this isn't dangerous," Fendwick sighed, finally looking away from the window to look at one of his oldest friends. "Perhaps Moody sounds...paranoid. But, you can't ignore the facts. Harry is in love with the Dark Lord."

"And the Dark Lord is in love with him," Minerva retorted, simply. Fendwick and Moody looked at her in disbelief, but Minerva's lips twisted into a wry smile as she looked at the two men. "Don't tell me you haven't seen it. Gentlemen, this works to your agenda, does it not?"

"How so?" Moody growled.

"The most dangerous man in the Empire is under the control of our esteemed king. He shall not harm another. He is but a dog called to heel," Minerva said and if Moody had thought that Minerva's disdain for the Dark Lord had died some, he heard the carefully reigned fury in her voice.

Minerva was always a shrewd woman. She had endeared herself to Harry, in a way that Moody and Fendwick could not. She allowed the King to make his own decisions and mistakes and carefully taught him when he was wrong. Moody had once thought that she was allowing Harry to run wild and reckless, but he could hear the hatred in her voice as she spat the word 'dog'. She was affectionate of the King but there was no love lost between her and the Dark Lord.

It soothed him some to see that there was still _some_ logic in Harry's Council.

"And what of the King's choice of Council? It's made of children and Slytherins," McKinnon spat.

"One Slytherin," Minerva corrected as she finished her goblet of wine. She lifted her wand and tapped on the edge of the goblet, filling it again. Moody's gnarled lips twitched. Minerva had always been good at that particular charm.

"Do we forget that Tonks is Andromeda's damned _daughter_?" McKinnon retorted. "She flaunts it well enough, now."

"She was once a whore. And now, she's an uppity heiress," Emmeline said, spite in her voice. Minerva's eyes flashed at the word but, she said nothing in response, waiting with her lips pressed thin.

"Tonks has been nothing but loyal from the beginning and she hasn't changed a single bit. She will _always_ have the empire's best interests at heart," Minerva retorted and Fendwick took a step forward, his eyes flashing.

"The King's or the empire's best interests?" he challenged.

Minerva scoffed. "I thought they were one and the same. The King _is_ Albion. And he will continue to do what is right for the empire. What must he do to prove himself to you all? He is but a man. A fallible human. Must he be a god too?"

"I'd rather not," Fendwick said. "Narcissa is called Godkiller for a reason."

There was a long silence, full of a heaviness that none could name. None of them had ever seen Narcissa in battle. But, they knew that she was, perhaps, the only one alive that could stand before the Dark Lord and have a hope of taking him down.

"Do you...do you really think that Harry can kill Narcissa _Godkiller_?" Emmeline whispered.

Minerva's brow furrowed. "I hope so."

Moody growled, limping away towards the door, finished with the conversation. He looked over his shoulder with one whizzing blue eye and hissed, "Harry Wildfyre's recklessness and foolish trustworthiness will get us all killed, Minerva McGonagall. He will burn us _all._ And then what will it all be for, when there is nothing but snakes and ashes?"

Minerva stood up, sharply, slamming her goblet down. She looked at the man, lifting her chin.

"Then, like Albus, we will die fighting for the right reasons."

 **IS**

"Gabrielle! Where are you?"

She debated on ignoring his call. She thought about picking up her steel and creeping down the stairs, blade and wand in hand, and tearing him apart. She would do it, slowly; make him feel the pain of those girls. Shave his head. Skin him. Hang the werewolf pelt on her wall. Roll around in the puddle of his blood, permanently staining the silver of her hair pink. _Rage, rage_.

Gabrielle took a deep breath and bit deep enough into the apple that her teeth scraped the core. She slowly chewed, tasting the crispness, reveling in the crunch of the fruit, the soft bitterness of the skin. She swallowed, wiping away the juices, making her wrist sticky. And then, she smiled and turned the corner.

She wasn't surprised when she still felt that soft rush of love and affection, despite the rage that warred in her bones. Gabrielle would always love Fenrir Greyback as she much as she despised him. She thought that she might've despised him since he had allowed Deyanira to beat her. He hadn't ever touched her himself, but complacency was the same thing. Deyanira had scarred her and _he_ had allowed Gabrielle to be scarred.

"Welcome home, Fen," Gabrielle laughed, rushing at him, looping her arms around his neck. He picked her up by her wasp waist and spun her around, giving his low gruff laugh. He looked at her in surprise, searching for the girl that he once knew.

He found remnants of her, a memory disrupted by the new sharpness of her smile, and the knowledge in her eyes. There was a moment where they stared at each other, everything laid bare. She told him that she knew him to his bones, knew the savageries he had committed with his claws. He saw her and saw the Stranger, instead.

The moment ended and instead, he crushed her close and pressed their lips together. Gabrielle ravaged him, their tongues tangling and she bit his bottom lip hard, tasting copper on her tongue, in the back of her throat. Like always.

She pulled away and blood dribbled down his chin, into the grey scruff of his beard.

"You certainly missed me, didn't you, Miss Gabrielle?" Fenrir teased as he placed her down on the ground. Gabrielle grinned up at him.

"Did I say that? I had all the books in the world to keep me company," Gabrielle teased as she backed away towards the stairs, never taking her eyes away from him. She would never look away from him again. "And my fingers."

"Your fingers, hmm?" he growled, taking a step forward, watching her thin frame. "You know, Miss Gabrielle, I seem to remember something you said before I took my leave."

"Do you really?" Gabrielle laughed, softly. She knew exactly what he spoke of. She turned on her heel and walked up the stairs, confident that he would follow. He made a soft sound of surprise when she walked right past his bedroom and towards the library. She glanced over her shoulder. "Is that so, Mr. Greyback?"

"Woman, where are you leading me?" he demanded.

"I thought you'd be hungry. You'll need your energy for when I ride your cock until you collapse," Gabrielle drawled. Fenrir let out another loud bark of laughter and allowed her to drag him towards their table, where meats and cheeses and bread were spread out before them. Gabrielle pushed Fenrir down into a seat and she settled on his lap, plucking a grape up and pushing it to his mouth.

"You are a menace," Fenrir drawled as they ate, taking turns feeding each other wines and cheeses and bread, all hearty things that made them feel fat and drunken and alive. Gabrielle wrapped her arms around Fenrir and buried her face in his neck.

She memorized the scent of him—the rich earth, bright copper, sweat. She would memorize the cadence of his voice, the feel of his body. The color of his eyes.

"Do you love me?" Gabrielle whispered.

Fenrir stilled and slowly, he pressed his hand to his back.

"Have I never told you how I adore you?" Fenrir said, straining to tease. Slowly, Gabrielle looked up at him with pale eyes.

"No," she said, flatly.

"I love you, Gabrielle Greyback."

Gabrielle wanted to ask, _Did you love the others too? Before you murdered them and put them up like trophies?_

"I love you too," Gabrielle whispered, full of trembling honesty and she brushed her nose against his, brushed her lips against his, memorizing the shape of his mouth, the taste of his tongue.

She wanted to remember it all after he was dead.

 **FAIREST**

She was not a subtle girl, for all her preconceived notions. She flushed when she saw his son, looked down with her brown bird eyes, and grimaced whenever she saw her betrothed. She was also a lonely girl, and so it was not surprising to see her sneaking out of the library after another tryst with his son, just after her final wedding robes fitting. She tried to smooth out her hair, and her little maid—the tiny blonde with the enormous eyes—tried to fix the laces of her robes, but she looked as she did. Like an unfit, foreign whore.

Bartemius waited for his son as he watched from the alcove as the Lady Granger disappeared down the hall. When Barty swept out of the room, running his hand through sweat-drenched hair, Bartemius' lips curled into a sneer.

"You're a stupid boy, Barty. You always have been," Bartemius growled, slowly walking from the shadows. Barty didn't seem surprised to see him, instead glancing over at him with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"I've no idea what you mean, Father." Barty spat the title like poison.

"You will stop seeing the future queen, immediately, boy. That's an order," Bartemius hissed, grabbing Barty's forearm and dragging him out of sight, down one of the more forgotten hallways of Hogwarts Castle. Barty ripped himself out of Bartemius' grip, his lips curled into a sneer.

"The future queen needed someone to recommend her books. I was only doing as Lady Granger asked," Barty barked, running his hand through his hair again, his tongue flashing out in that nervous tic that Bartemius had tried to break him of.

"So, you were searching for books under her skirt? I do _not_ suffer fools, my son, and so, I shall not suffer you. You will cease fucking the future queen. That is your King's betrothed," Bartemius roared, spittle flying to mark his son's face. Barty didn't flinch. His son's face was twisted in fury.

"I don't give a damn about the King! Do you see how he treats her? He abuses her, humiliates her—"

"And she is his to do with as he pleases," Bartemius snarled back. Barty scoffed.

"She belongs to no one but herself," Barty retorted and Bartemius stared at his son for a very long time before he laughed, long and spiteful. Barty's brow creased into a frown. "What?"

"Do you _love_ her?" Bartemius mocked. "Do you really fancy yourself in love with the foreign slut?"

"Don't call her that!" Barty shouted.

Bartemius shook his head. "My, my, you _are_ a fool, Barty. She doesn't give a damn about you. She's using you. She will marry the King, don't you realize? Their marriage will permanently secure her place in court. Lord Zabini won't have this. The King won't have this. Lady Narcissa won't have this."

"I'm not afraid of any of them," Barty said, so bright and bold and brash and, ultimately, so young.

Bartemius looked at his young son, so in love with the idea of love. He didn't see Hermione Granger for what she was. She was trying to survive, by any means necessary. She was the type of woman that would calculate every mistake that could possibly befall of her. That meant she knew what could happen if she was caught with Barty.

"You should be, boy. You should be _very_ afraid," Bartemius hissed, spitefully. "What are the House Crouch words? What are they?"

Barty sneered, looking down at the stone beneath their feet. "Justice. Honor. Duty," he spat, with disdain. Bartemius' hand flashed out, catching him by the collar, yanking him forward, as if he were still a boy. Barty still was a boy. A reckless boy.

"You will _not_ threaten this family's high station," Bartemius hissed dangerously. Barty stared at him with hateful eyes. "I suspect that Lady Narcissa sees value in me. Soon, she will find a place for me amongst the King's advisors. You will not threaten that."

"Get your fucking hands off of me," Barty growled, pushing the man away and storming away, his hands blazing.

"You will not be a disappointment!" Bartemius roared after him.

Barty staggered to a stop. He turned around, bewildered awe on his face. He let out a broken laugh, wiping away tears of fury from his cheeks. He pointed his wand at his father's face, trembling with anger.

"A-a disappointment? _Me_? I am the best son you could've _ever_ had!" Barty roared.

"How so?" Bartemius scoffed. "Look at you. You've no wife, no position, no political clout. What use are you to me?"

"You have no _right_ to call me a disappointment!" Barty roared, the end of his wand glowing with untamed magic. "You have no right to be _disappointed_ in me when you didn't even raise me! I am a well-trained swordsman. I am a horseman. I have the ear of the future queen and I'm a Death Eater, one of the best wizards in this damned empire. I don't give a _shit_ if you're disappointed."

"Watch your _tongue_ , boy, or—"

"Or what? You'll disown me? I'm the only blood you have, you arse of a man," Barty retorted, backing away, shaking his head.

"You are my _son_ —"

"No, I'm not," Barty spat. "I may have your name. Your blood. But, I am not your son. I haven't been your son since you gave me _away_ to the man that I do consider my father. Speaking of that man, I'm being Summoned by him. So, fuck you. Fuck your name. Fuck your blood."

 **OF**

The Parkinson soldiers were conniving though cowardly.

It gave Harry great _pleasure_ to permanently silence more than a few. He spun, whipping sword around, slicing through another throat. He bared his teeth as blood splattered his cheeks and he lifted his wand as two more soldiers themselves at him, intent on taking him down after he had slaughtered a neat dozen.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

" _Imperio!"_

Harry's eyes widened. Yaxley's Killing Curse hit its mark, and the soldier dropped like a marionette whose strings were cut. Barty's curse hit a soldier, and when he didn't drop, Harry's brow furrowed. Barty slowly twisted his wand, his eyes glowing ominously in flames and moonlight. He took a step closer, barely regarding Harry.

"Barty was trained by the Dark Lord since he was a child. He has a...particularly brutal quality to his fighting style," Yaxley said, not quite clearing up Harry's confusion.

Barty's lips curled into a terrible smile. Softly, he hissed, "Kill every man with your mark on their chest. Let your face be the last they see."

"Yes, Master," the soldier said, blankly.

He turned on his heel, marching soullessly towards another duel between Kingsley and Rookwood against six other soldiers. Harry's jaw dropped when the soldier sunk his sword between one of his comrade's shoulder blades. Kingsley winced, his eyes wide. He glanced over at Harry and Barty waved, waggling his fingers jauntily.

"W-what was that?" Harry hissed.

"The Imperius Curse. The least used of the three Unforgiveables but, a personal favorite of mine," Barty said, turning his back on the massacre his soulless automaton was delivering upon his former compatriots. "You fight impeccably, your Grace. My Lord trained you well but, there's something natural about your grace and form."

His eyes roved over Harry's body appreciatively. Harry grinned.

"Stop flirting with our Lord's lover before you find yourself in the ground," Yaxley grumbled. "We have a battle to finish."

Barty rolled his eyes, winked at Harry before turning back and throwing himself into the fray. Harry swallowed hard, looking around, trying to decipher the chaos. Kingsley had moved on, Rookwood on his heels. Ginny, Ron, and the twins were ferrying innocents from the battle, protecting them with Shield Charms. Hannah Abbott was running around, Healing the wounded with Susan at her back. Cho had drawn the line at Cedric and Harry had agreed. Cedric would be wasted in a raid such as this.

"Go!" Yaxley insisted. "I'll watch your back."

Harry's eyes widened at the insistence in Yaxley's voice, and he nodded. He jumped into the fray, swinging his sword, with a spell on his tongue. He never knew how to measure time when he was in battle. Each death felt like both a thousand years and less than a second. It was becoming easier and easier to finish someone, to end them like they didn't have families or children or loved ones. He reminded himself that these people _murdered_ and _tormented_ and _tortured_ innocents for nothing but gold or even, fun _._

That was unforgivable.

" _Sectumsempra!_ " Snape cried out, and another soldier was nearly cut to ribbons, the spell shredding open his battle robes and chest, spraying Harry's cheek with blood as he ran past. Harry spun slamming his sword into the man's back, ending him for good.

He ripped out his sword and continued running without a glance back at Snape's face.

"How much more do you think we have?" Harry shouted as he parried another blow, his back pressed against Yaxley's.

"Maybe two dozen! We're making quick work!" Yaxley shouted.

And they were. There had been 120 Parkinson soldiers to their 20, seven of them being Death Eaters—the ones Harry wasn't quite sure he could trust, barring Snape and Malfoy—and the rest being Order members. Moody fought with gusto, perhaps all pent up frustration with the way Harry was ruling. Harry's lips curled into a hard smile and he roared, hacking and spitting out spells because it was war, and there was no time for him to make jokes, even to himself.

It was as they were finishing up the last of them that he heard the screams.

They were the type of screams that he'd never heard before, heart-wrenching and terribly sad and full of agonizing pain. Harry spun around, his eye wide as he searched for the source. He looked up at Yaxley, but the man looked grim.

"What is that?" Harry whispered.

Yaxley frowned, impenetrable. "We were warned. You words are law," he said, softly.

Barty jogged forward, skidding to a stop on Harry's other side.

"Oh no…" he whispered, softly.

Harry took off running, following the sounds of the screams that had been drowned out by the sound of war and the thundering of his own blood in his ears.

" _Crucio!_ "

Harry cried out, his hand outstretched as he saw the broken bodies, nearly lost in the waves of chaos. His heart shattered as he saw the glossy dead eyes of a child, her mouth frozen open in a bloody howl. Her father's entrails were wrapped around her wrists. Her mother was the lost, writhing and churning under the power of Alecto Carrow's Cruciatus Curse. He was frozen as the mother's screams echoed in his ears, searing into his mind.

Her throat sounded raw, her screams like something out of a horror story. His lungs collapsed in his chest and he clapped his hands over his ears as he stared at the terror. Bodies, so many _bodies_ , lifted in the air, crucified by magic. Was this what cruelty was? Was _this_ what the Dark Lord had taught his followers?

Rage pulsed Harry's veins and he took a step forward, the fire burning brighter around him.

"STOP IT!" Harry roared, throwing out his hands.

He watched as the fire exploded from his hands, eating away the magic. The bodies dropped to the ground, and Harry watched as the Carrow twins turned towards him, their eyes wide with terror. He wasn't sure what he looked like to them, but he didn't care.

"Wha—" Alecto started.

"That's _enough_!" Harry roared, whipping his wand around wordlessly, Conjuring ropes around their bodies, binding them tightly.

The Carrows collapsed, bowing to his power and Harry felt only rage. He stared at them, his fire burning brighter and brighter, eating away at the greenery, turning the world into nothing but ashes. He did not notice the grass curling and blackening. He did not notice the plumes of smoke that blocked out the midnight's moon. He did not notice the destruction, the smell of burning flesh as the fallen bodies around him collapsed in one themselves, turning to dust in the wind.

"Your Grace! Harry!"

Harry snarled, spinning around, his fire whipping around with him. He flinched when he was met with Ron's gaze. Ron reached out to him, a solemn expression on his face.

"What?" Harry hissed.

Ron's gaze turned grave. "Look around, Harry," he said, softly.

And Harry looked around. Goose pimples rose along his skin as he looked at the blackness of his rage. All light had died, turning the world grey and ashen but for where the light of his flames reached. The Order stared at him in terror. The Death Eaters cowered before him—even Lucius and Severus. Only Ginny and Ron stared at him without fear.

"I...I…" Harry whispered, and he pulled the fire back into himself, letting it settle under his skin and fester. Slowly, the ash fell like snow. "They...killed them. They were supposed to...they weren't supposed to…"

"Sometimes, people are just _bad_ , Harry," Ron whispered. "But, you are not one of them."

Harry wasn't sure he believed that as he looked around at the blackened world. He had scorched the Earth. Trees had been turned into nothing. The moon itself had disappeared for a moment. All that was left was soot, ash, and blood.

"They killed a family. For fun," Harry murmured to himself. He looked over at the Carrows, bound and fallen. They stared at him with wide eyes, bewildered and confused. This had never been something they couldn't do before but, Harry was in charge now.

He knew what he had to do.

 **THEM**

"What are you doing in here?" Hermione barked. She looked over at Luna, her eyes narrowed. "Why is she here?"

"Hermione...you may want to listen to her," Luna said, her voice ever so soft, and hesitant. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise and she looked to Daphne who lounged on her couch, both contrite yet smug. It set Hermione on edge.

"I come to beg your forgiveness," Daphne said, kindly.

Hermione pulled her dressing gown tighter around her body as she slowly approached the armchair, settling down in it. She lifted her wand, Levitating the teacup and saucer towards her and she took a long sip, hoping that it would calm her nerves. It didn't. Slowly, she settled it on her side table and crossed her legs, full facing her opponent.

"Beg my forgiveness?" Hermione allowed. Before the nerves could get the better of her, she remembered how Narcissa had looked at Blaise. She had looked at him with little regard, as if he were barely worth any of her time.

She channeled that, her eyes shuttering, and Daphne leaned forward in her chair, intrigued and surprised.

"I have wronged you, as a woman. As a friend. I do admit that...there are inappropriate aspects of my relationship with the King. I have betrayed your trust," Daphne admitted, sounding contrite even as she stared at Hermione with her sea glass eyes that never betrayed any of her thoughts.

Hermione's shoulders bunched and she felt for her wand, tucked into the belt of her dressing gown.

"Luna, you said I wanted to listen to her," Hermione said, her teeth clenched. "I want to hear her humiliate me, then?"

"You jump to conclusions too often," Luna chided, moving to sit in the armchair at Hermione's side. She sat back, and Daphne looked surprised that Hermione said nothing of it, said nothing of having her servant girl sit at her side as an equal. "She is not a fool."

"No, I never thought her one," Hermione muttered. She looked back at Daphne. "From the moment I met you, I thought you were odd. Why are you telling me this? Do you want me to hate you?"

"Not at all. I...I want to apologize. Beg your forgiveness. I don't want to be queen. I've never wanted to be queen. I gave up my own noble titles and fair share of fortune to be a ward of the Longbottom family because I don't value those things," Daphne said and Hermione could hear the honesty in her words though she couldn't decipher any of the intent. Daphne hesitated and Hermione nodded, spurring the other woman on. "The King is...taken with me, and I have encouraged it."

"Are you taken with him?" Hermione asked, her voice cold.

"I...I'm not sure," Daphne said, her brow furrowed as she leaned back in her chair, staring down at her clenched fists digging into her thighs. "He is kind to me but, I know how he is to you. He is a monster to you. I cannot reconcile this in my head."

"He is fascinated by you. When he is with you, he lets me alone," Hermione said, thoughtfully.

"Alone with your paramour," Daphne said, suddenly sly, switching from insecurity to the woman that Hermione knew her to be.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Hermione retorted, coldly. She glanced over at Luna but, the woman was looking back at her with a look that conveyed all of her disapproval.

"Barty Crouch Jr. I saw you two. Coming out of the library. You care for him. The King wouldn't like it if he found out," Daphne noticed, inspecting her nails.

"Is that a threat?" Hermione barked.

Luna reached out, grabbing her hand and squeezed hard. Hermione looked at the maid again. Luna said it all with her eyes.

 _This was why Daphne had come._

"Not at all. I feel like we can...benefit from a mutual understanding," Daphne said, cheerfully. She leaned forward, her lips pulled into a smile. "The King has not noticed your flagrant affair because he has been otherwise occupied with me. I can assure you that Bartemius Crouch has noticed, and soon, the Slytherins, including the Dark Lord, will not as well."

"I can handle the Slytherins," Hermione said, lying through her teeth.

Daphne pursed her lips, scoffing. "I'm sure," she said. She shook her head. "You needn't do this alone."

"I've been alone since I've come to this gods damned place," Hermione retorted.

"Clearly not. I wouldn't be here but for your maid. She caught me spying on you and blackmailed into being here. You have a _very_ loyal person on your side," Daphne said, dipping her head towards Luna. Hermione glanced at her maid but, Luna looked only at Daphne, watching her with careful eyes.

"Tell me about this...benefitting," Hermione said.

"I will continue to see the King. I can promise you that we have not engaged carnally. He's barely kissed me. I will continue to distract him while you have your dalliances. Once you are married to the King, I will draw back. I won't have his bastard. And once you're secure in your position, you will no longer need me as a distraction. I go back to Arcadia. We both survive," Daphne said. Hermione pursed her lips.

"This seems firmly in my favor. What do you get out of this?" Hermione asked, her voice cold. She finished her tea and set it down, firmly, tapping her wand against her exposed leg.

Daphne sighed. "I...the House Longbottom is still shamed. I have no friends at court...except for you, and you are a powerful friend indeed. The ladies may pretend to disdain you but, it is because they are jealous. Surely, you've noticed how they mimic you. Even Pansy Parkinson has tried to tease her hair bigger. Please, Lady Hermione."

Hermione tilted her head. Her friendship was powerful now. She grew more and more powerful the closer she got to the dreaded marriage ceremony. She shivered as she regarded Daphne, this woman that begged for her friendship in return for hiding Hermione's relationship.

SHe knew what would become of her if she was caught.

Dead. Exiled. Whichever, Hermione didn't mind.

But, Barty...she couldn't allow Barty to be hurt. Never. Narcissa would kill him. _Draco_ would kill him.

She had no idea if even the Dark Lord could stop them if the slight was revealed to court.

That settled Hermione's decision.

"Deal."

 **ALL?**

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered, reaching towards Tom. Tom took a step back, his voice carefully cold, and Harry flinched away when the man said nothing. Harry stared at him for a long time before taking a deep breath and turning his back on him.

"Harry," Tonks said.

Harry nodded and he pulled away from the shadows, walking towards the crowd. The world slowed around him and the crowd parted. He ignored the Alfheimeans' stares, his eyes trained on the cage that held the Carrows, the same cage that had once trapped Tom and his seconds. The Carrows watched him with bared teeth, Alecto chuckling through the pain. Harry didn't let his mask drop.

"What will you do? You can't _touch_ us," Alecto taunted.

Harry tilted his head. Freia screeched as she hovered above them, her great wings beating a steady breeze that blew Harry's curls from his face, revealing the single facial blemish that had never healed—the lightning bolt above his brow. The Carrows flinched from the display of power but didn't cower.

"What makes you think such a thing?" Harry asked.

"Our Lord would never let you. Just because you warm his bed—" Amycus taunted and Harry whipped out his wand and the Carrow twins felt quiet under his Silence Charm.

Harry nodded once at McKinnon and the Weasley twins. The three wrestled the Carrows out of the cage, sending them to their knees as Harry stepped forward, slowly drawing his sword from his scabbard. The sight of steel seemed to make Amycus realize how serious Harry was as he watched them.

"You have been brought before me, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, for the torture and the murder of innocent Muggles. This is against the law of your King and, thus this is high treason, punishable without trial and with immediate death," Harry said and he waved his wand, ending the Silence spell. "Last words?"

Alecto sputtered, her face turning purple. "M-my Lord! You can't let him _do_ this! My Lord!"

Harry closed his eyes as she looked over his shoulder. Harry glanced back at the Dark Lord, purposefully keeping his green eyes unreadable. But, the Dark Lord wasn't watching him. He was staring at the Carrows, as if branding their faces to his mind.

"M-my Lord?" Amycus whispered.

"It is the law," Voldemort said, his voice soft. "This is...justice."

Alecto fell back onto her haunches, trembling in horror. Harry turned back to the Carrows.

"You damn us, my Lord. You _damn_ us. Your loyal servants! You would let this _whore_ do this—" Amycus hissed in fury and Voldemort shook his head.

"Enough," he barked. "I told you both what was expected and you disobeyed. Disobedience is met with consequences. It is the _law_."

"Fuck the law and fuck your whore too," Alecto hissed, spitting at Harry's feet.

Harry didn't flinch. He nodded at Fred and George and they grabbed Alecto by the arms, holding them wide and McKinnon pushed her head down, baring her neck. Alecto hissed and spat but, she didn't try to run.

"Close your eyes, Amycus Carrow," Harry said, calmly.

Amycus growled. "Why?"

"I am not cruel enough to make you watch your sister's death," Harry said softly and he Conjured up a blindfold silently. He twisted his wand with delicate care, wrapping it around Amycus' eyes. Alecto whimpered softly but made no sound of protest. Harry stowed his wand and pulled his sword fully. "I, Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of My Name, Emperor of Albion, the Wyrdfod and the Fairest of Them All, sentence you, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, to die."

And with a great heavy swing of his sword, he separated Alecto's head from her shoulder. He watched her body jerk once, twice, the grass slicked with blood. Her head rolled and Amycus let out a terrible cry, closing his head to his twin's death.

"My Lord," Amycus cried out. "Don't leave…"

Voldemort was already walking away, his back turned as his follower's stained the grass.

"Your Lord is here," Harry lied, kindly. "He would never walk away from this. Goodbye, Amycus Carrow."

And with another swing of his sword, Amycus Carrow was dead. The two decapitated bodies fell from the Weasleys' and McKinnon's hands. Harry cleared his throat and called his Fire, wondering if he should burn them. He paused. He turned to look at the Death Eaters, and they watched him, out of terror or awe, he wasn't sure.

"Rodolphus," Harry called.

"Yes, your Grace," Lord Lestrange responded immediately.

"Are there any Carrows left?" Harry asked.

"Alecto's bastard daughter. She's eleven years. Lives with the grandmother," Rodolphus said, nervously.

Harry cleared his throat. "Send the new Lady Carrow a letter. I'll be legitimizing her. And send her their bodies. They deserve a proper burial," he said, firmly. He looked down at his blood-soaked sword and felt his stomach turn. He wanted to vomit. He looked at Tonks. "Clean my sword."

He passed it to her and walked back the way he had come, ignoring the watching eyes. He ignored Moody's approval, Cho's _judgmental_ disgust. He ignored it all, walking back up to Westeron, right past Andromeda who didn't look like much of anything at all.

Harry stared straight ahead as he ascended the stairs and walking up the beautifully crafted spiral staircases, the Slytherin tapestries that marked the halls just as much as the Hufflepuff banners that Andromeda had never bothered taking down. He nodded when he should as the servants passed him, muttering their greetings, dropping into curtseys and bows. He could barely see where he was walking, his head filled with weeping, his eyes holding the image of Alecto's disembodied head. He walked right to his room and he wasn't surprised to see Tom on their bed, staring up at the ceiling, unmoving, nearly unbreathing.

Harry collapsed back against the door, holding his chest as his heart threatened to beat through his ribcage.

"I am sorry. I am _sorry,_ " Harry whispered, too afraid to move.

"Don't apologize when you don't mean it," Tom said, his voice cold and unyielding.

"I am _not_ sorry for their deaths," Harry snarled, suddenly full of fury. Tom, who was supposed to _always_ be on his side, was so cold. It made Harry _burn_. "They were violent murderers, thrilled by the torment of people weaker than themselves. They were like every evil man I've ever met, triumphing in their dominance of the oppressed, and they would've done something worse, eventually. If there _is_ anything worse than torturing helpless people."

Tom sat up, suddenly, his face twisted in rage. "Then _why_ are you apologizing?" he roared.

Harry's face hardened and he stormed up to Tom and grabbed him by his shoulders. He crawled forward, straddling Tom's lap and cradled his face. Slowly, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Tom's. He could feel the older man trembling.

And softly, Harry said, "I am sorry for your loss."

:::

 **A/N:** Hi! It's been two weeks! I'm so, so sorry about how long this took to come out. I've been so stressed with schoolwork and I have a big exam on Tuesday, but I really needed a break so I decided to start a new story (Called Diagnosis) and, also, finally, FINALLY finish this chapter. It's been really hard to write because it's largely a transition chapter. There are only three chapters left until the end of this arc, and then, we'll be hitting the final arc, which is tentatively called GRYMMR.

Now that I've gotten this transitional chapter out of the way, we can REALLY get started. The climax begins next chapter, and hopefully, I'll have it up by Tuesday. I want to actually have this entire arc done by Thanksgiving Day, so let's GO!


	28. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Where's Cedric and the Death Eaters?" Ginny asked curiously after Harry called the council to order. Harry stood from his chair, putting his hands on hips as he regarded his council, with the addition of Andromeda and Regulus.

"We are discussing domestic issues today. After the wedding, Afallon's noble families will be coming to swear their fealty and loyalty in perpetuity to me. This puts the entire country at risk. We discuss closing the Western Bridge until the war is over," Harry said.

Bill frowned. "Do you think that wise, your Grace, Lady Warden? A great deal of Afallon's revenue is from trading perishable goods," Bill pointed out and Andromeda nodded in agreement.

"True. But, we will be in excess of grains and food. Enough to go around. If we must take control of it all and ration it out properly so the people don't stave due to greed, then so be it. But, their lives should come first, unthreatened by the war on the mainland," Andromeda reminded him. Bill nodded in understanding and agreement.

"We also shouldn't give them a direct line to where we're stationed. True, Westeron is on the other side of the country but allowing them access to the Bridge would be foolish," Kingsley added and Harry laughed softly, shaking his head as he looked at his council.

"I'm in any need of convincing. Truly, we need to establish a timeline," Harry said and there was another mass nod of agreement before ideas were being shouted out, too much for Harry to remember all at once.

Still, Regulus said nothing as he looked at the King's council, discussing a country that they had never lived in or ever seen.

"We should the gates prior to the harvest. But, just so," Voldemort said, firmly.

"We'll do it quietly," Ginny suggested.

Tonks snorted. "It's an enormous stone bridge. How do you close that quietly?"

"We destroy it and rebuild after the war. But, I think we should do it after the harvest. In case there's a problem with the grain. The soil has been as tetchy as the weather," Andromeda said as an explanation. She paused and looked over at Regulus, seemingly noticing how quiet he was. "Regulus, you know the harvest time better than anyone. What do you suggest?"

Regulus opened his mouth, ready to speak on harvests and bridge-closings, and the mercantile state that Afallon would have to turn to but, he couldn't find the words. Suddenly, his tongue was swelling and something else was emerging.

"I can't hold my tongue any longer," Regulus said, his voice soft as he looked at the King and Lord Chancellor. "Your Grace, the Lady Warden and I have done everything that you have asked of us. We have risked our lives, and I did it gladly, for Lady Andromeda promised me something."

Andromeda's nostrils flared and she reached up, grabbing at Regulus' wrist. "Regulus, please," she began. "Now, is _not_ the time."

"No. Let him speak. We can return to the bridge matter at a later date," Harry said, shaking his head at her. His gaze softened when he looked at Regulus. He nodded once at him. "What has she promised you, Lord Black?"

Regulus stiffened at the title.

"You see...I am not the true heir of House Black, as you must know. On the day that the Dark Lord _murdered_ the good Princess Lily Gryffindor and her husband, Sir James Potter, he tortured and imprisoned my older brother, Sirius Black, in the worst prison in the world: Azkaban," Regulus snarled, and if he felt a twist of pleasure when the council cringed, and Cedric and Anthony cast the Dark Lord a disgusted look, he suppressed it.

Harry's brow furrowed and he turned to look at Madame McGonagall.

"What is Azkaban?" he asked, softly.

"A most heinous place," McGonagall said, quietly. "It is a terrible prison, used to house only the most dangerous criminals. It is where Medraut was kept before he was slain. Its guards are the creatures that we call...dementors. Fear itself."

Harry tilted his head as he mulled over her words. "Fear itself," he repeated, softly.

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth," Regulus said, his eyes firm. "They infest the darkest, filthiest places. They glory in decay and despair. They drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air. If you get too near a dementor, every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If dementors feed on you long enough, they will reduce you to something like itself...soulless and evil. You would be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. My brother...has been in Azkaban for _seventeen_ years."

Regulus leaned back in his chair as he saw the horrified look enter Harry's eyes. Harry turned to look at the Dark Lord, as if he couldn't believe it before he drew himself up and closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself. The Dark Lord stared back, unapologetic.

"Every...time...I think you cannot horrify me more…" Harry trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Voldemort's lips twitched in a terrifying smirk. "This isn't the worst thing you know about me," Voldemort said, softly.

"No, it is not," Harry sighed. "I horrify myself."

"Your Grace, Andromeda promised that you would rectify the wrongs that this man has done to my family," Regulus said, impatiently, and Voldemort snorted, looking away. Regulus' rage flared. "Do you not think it wrong?"

"No, I don't," Voldemort retorted. "He committed treason—"

"Against our _mad_ sister. You doomed our _cousin_ , Tom," Andromeda snarled. "What was it about blood again? We never betray _blood_."

"He was a blood traitor first!" Voldemort roared. "He chose fucking _Gryffindors_ over us."

There was a long moment of silence as Andromeda's eyes narrowed.

"You did too," she hissed. " _Blood_ traitor."

Voldemort stood immediately, nearly knocking back his chair in his fury. Andromeda jumped up, pulling her wand, and the two Slytherins hissed, magic glowing at the tips of their wands.

" _EXPELLIARMUS_!"

The two voices rang out. Harry reached out and caught Andromeda's wand and Voldemort's nostrils flared when Tonks smirked at him, triumphant as she tucked his yew wand into the depths of her red cloak. Regulus swallowed hard as he looked at his mistress and her brother, both festering with rage.

"You will _not_ have a duel in the middle of my war council. Finish your family business somewhere else, and preferably _after_ I make a decision. You both are children so I shall treat you like children. You'll get your wands back after this meeting is over," Harry spat. He set Andromeda's wand in front of him and turned back to Regulus, his eyes blazing with leftover fury. "I think it wrong, Regulus Black, and I will rectify this. I cannot pay you in blood because Lord Voldemort is _mine_ , bound to me by magic, but, as soon as this war ends, I will free your brother."

Regulus shook his head. "Forgive me, your Grace, but that isn't good enough."

Harry looked surprised by the notion. He looked over at Tonks but, the woman shrugged. He glanced to McGonagall, Kingsley, Bill, and even Ginny but, they all stared down at the table. So, he wasn't alone in his decision, per say, but Regulus could see that the others would neither deny nor support either of them.

"Not good enough?" Harry repeated.

"My brother was loyal to the Order. So loyal that he was prepared to suffer nearly two decades of his mistreatment. You _owe_ him," Regulus snarled. He winced when he realized that he had overstepped, and Harry's face twisted with irritation.

" _I_ owe _him_?" Harry repeated again.

Regulus crumpled into his seat, pressing his hand to his brow, attempting to smooth out the frown lines that would make him wrinkle prematurely.

"I mean...what I mean is...he's my _brother_ , Harry," Regulus said, softly. "My only family in the world and that man locked him away for doing what was good and right. What was _just_."

Harry's gaze softened and Regulus leaned forward, opening his mouth to appeal more. He wanted to speak about his brother's virtues. The way he would laugh and joke. How great he was at dueling and how much he could teach Harry. He wanted to say all of those things but, Regulus had only been a child when he had last seen Sirius; he wasn't sure if he'd made all of it up in his head or if it was all actual memories.

"Your Grace, freeing Sirius now could be beneficial," McGonagall said, slowly.

Voldemort jerked in his seat and Andromeda sat up, suddenly alert.

"How so?" Harry asked, curiously.

Andromeda's eyes brightened with excitement. "Oh. _Oh._ He's a _Marauder_ ," Andromeda said, looking around the table as if the word meant anything.

"That was their stupid name for themselves. It didn't _mean_ anything," Voldemort said, rolling his eyes.

"But, it did," Tonks challenged, slyly. "The Marauder's Map exists, Uncle."

"For Hogwarts. But, Essetir?" Voldemort drawled.

"Enough using words that I don't know," Harry hissed. He looked around at everyone, his arms crossed over his chest. "What is a Marauder?"

"It's what Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and your father, James, called themselves. The Marauders. Messieurs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. They were the guard of your mother, and they created maps of the strongholds that they resided in. I remember a time when the household moved to Rowena's hold during an outbreak. They were twelve, still training, but they were there," Andromeda said, firmly look at Voldemort with a smugness that was quite unbecoming for a woman her age.

Regulus looked at her with hope, anyway.

"Pettigrew! Pettigrew is a Marauder! There," Voldemort snapped.

"Pettigrew is an imbecile," Ginny interjected. "So, you think there's a map of Rowena's castle that will allow us entrance undetected?"

"Well...no," Andromeda sighed. "But, Sirius would know. Between Sirius and Remus, we could find a way into the castle. It's a chance. A chance we _desperately_ need."

They all turned to Harry. Harry looked deep in thought, constantly pacing, his eyes drifting over their faces. He paused and stared at Regulus the longest.

"Harry...this is a terrible plan. No one has ever broken into Azkaban prison. I can't simply let you waltz in. You'd need to break him out," Voldemort said, firmly.

Harry slowly looked up, his lips twitching into a smirk.

"I've grown used to accomplishing impossible things."

 **MIRROR**

"The Patronus Charm," Remus started, nervously. He had taken out his own wand and nodded at Harry, indicating that Harry should do the same. "This spell is highly advanced magic, Harry. It's a wonder that you haven't learned it yet."

Harry bit his bottom lip, wondering if he should share that he didn't know the spell because the Dark Lord didn't know it. Instead, he stayed silent, wishing that Tonks had been the one to teach him. Alas, she had been busy and McGonagall had quietly instructed Harry to do it. He wondered if it was because Remus knew Sirius Black best or because she was finally _forcing_ Remus to directly acknowledge Harry's presence.

"How does it work?" Harry asked instead.

"Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus, which is a kind of Anti-Dementor," Remus explained, "a guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor."

Harry's lips curled into a smile. Perhaps it would look like Freia or even Hagrid, who was large and intimidating to anyone that didn't know how kind he was. Remus' lips twitched into an involuntary smile of his own.

"The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon—hope, happiness, the desire to survive—but it cannot feel despair, as real humans an, so the Dementors can't hurt it," Remus explained and Harry leaned forward.

"You think I can learn it? You said only powerful, qualified wizards can do it," Harry pointed out.

Remus hesitated for only a moment. "I think...if anyone could learn it, it would be," he said, honestly, even as his cheeks turned a dusty pink. "I know that you believe that I do not like or believe in you but, I do. It's just...very difficult sometimes. To look at you."

"To look at me?" Harry asked, softly. He glanced over at McGonagall but, she was pretending not to hear their conversation, in a strange semblance of privacy.

"You look so very much like your mother and father," Remus confessed and he looked so pained that Harry didn't want to ask him anymore.

Instead, he asked, "What does a Patronus look like?"

"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it."

"And how do you conjure it?" Harry asked patiently.

"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a very happy memory," Remus said, firmly.

And Harry paused. He thought back to the first time that he had met Tonks, the bewilderment and the happiness and the instant camaraderie. But, no. Not enough. He thought about the moment Freia was born, his fire burning away a shell and revealing something beautiful. His lips curled into a tiny smile.

"Right," Harry said. "I'm ready."

Remus frowned as if he was unsure but he nodded.

"The incantation is this, 'expecto patronum'," Remus said. Harry nodded as he remembered the thrill of Freia taking her first breath. "Concentrating hard on your happy memory?"

"Yeah... _expecto patronum_!" Harry cast and he gasped when he saw wisps of silvery gas emerge from the end of his wand. He looked up, his eyes bright with excitement and he saw that even Remus looked impressed. "Did you see that? Something happened!"

"Yes...I…unexpected but, unsurprising," Remus said with a smile. "Now, think of a happier memory."

And then, Harry's face fell.

"I don't...I was thinking of Freia's birth. I don't really...have happier memories," Harry admitted.

Remus' brow creased. "Not even a childhood memory?"

"I didn't have the best childhood and war isn't really the time to make happy memories, is it?" Harry asked, crestfallen. Remus looked at him with such sadness that it made all of Harry's happiness fall away for a dull ache.

"No, I suppose not," Remus admitted.

Harry looked at the man for a long time. "I'm glad that you're the one teaching me."

"Me?" Remus asked in surprise.

"Yes. You knew my parents. And I know that you don't like to look at me because I remind you of them but, I like looking at you because...you remind me of them too. If that makes sense," Harry said, softly. Remus blinked, looking away. "Looking at you...reminds me that they were real. That they loved me."

Suddenly, Remus looked up and fiercely, he said, "They loved you, Harry Potter. More than anyone or anything in this entire world. They would lay their lives down for you a _thousand_ times over."

"I'm glad to hear you say it," Harry confessed. "You knew them best."

"We _all_ loved you. We would do anything for you, Harry. You are the best of your parents. The very best parts of them. When James found out that Lily was pregnant…I don't think I'd ever seen him so happy. You _saved_ your mother," Remus said strongly and though he looked stricken with grief, he didn't stop, a sudden fierceness in his amber eyes.

"Saved her?" Harry asked.

"Your mother was a sad woman. She was always free. A tiger-lily, made for the sun. A phoenix, made for the sky. And they locked her in a tower because they thought that that would keep her safe. In the end, it didn't keep anyone safe," Remus whispered. "Locking someone away never keeps anyone safe."

McGonagall looked away, a semblance of shame in her eyes.

"I understand that. I was alone. For a long time. The Dursleys were unkind people in an unkind village, who did not like the way I looked," Harry said softly. He looked at Remus. "And you do not like me because I remind you of the things you've lost. It's terribly lonely when the only connection to your parents wants nothing to do with you. I understand how my mother felt."

And Remus looked stricken by his comparison. His face crumpled, folding in on itself and he looked so regretful. Harry just stared back. He didn't want an apology or a hug. He just wanted Remus to understand, and finally, it seemed that he did.

"Harry...never again. I promise," Remus said softly. "Never again."

Harry nodded, looking up at the sky. "It seems...that a Gryffindor, alone in the world, is a terrible thing."

And finally, McGonagall spoke. Quietly, she said, "You are never alone. You will _never_ be alone again."

 **MIRROR**

Gabrielle woke up on her 16th birthday alone in bed. She looked to the side where she knew that Fenrir had fallen asleep. Blankly, she reached out, patting her hand against the space where he had been. It was cold.

Gabrielle rolled out of bed, utterly naked. She stretched, reveling in the soreness as her bones popped and tugged at her scars. Slowly, Gabrielle walked towards the hook by the door, snatching up her long silk robe. She tugged it around her body as she walked barefoot towards the library, her head held high. Her long sheet of pale hair swung around her. She passed by a mirror and froze.

Nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

Her hair was so light, it was nearly white. Her eyes were just as light, giving her an unearthly, unhealthy look. But, she was not beautiful. Not the way most Veela were. Instead, she looked terribly, unfathomably cold, and wane. Her face was sharp, almost like it wanted to shift into the face of a bird but, wasn't quite there yet. She was on the precipice of rage, right on the knife's edge.

Slowly, Gabrielle pushed open the door to the library. Fenrir stood by their table, a small smile on his face. There was a breakfast spread—all of her favorite foods. Freshly baked bread, cheeses, meats of all kind. Even her favorite sausage was there, though Gabrielle knew that only Fleur knew how to prepare it just right.

But, the only thing resting on her plate was an Albion apple.

"Happy birthday, my love," Fenrir said, gently.

Gabrielle took another step forward, her eyes trained on the apple. She didn't react when she really looked. The apple had a large bite taken out of it. It was old and browning, nearly sinking into itself, and it was caked in dried blood. Slowly, she looked up into Fenrir's eyes. His smile hadn't changed but, his eyes weren't warm amber. They were cold. Like gold.

He knew she knew.

"Thank you, Mr. Greyback," Gabrielle said.

She didn't smile. Slowly, they sat at the same time, never taking their eyes off one another.

 _Who is to rule_?

Gabrielle slowly picked up the rotting, blood caked apple. She turned it over, sniffing it. It smelled overwhelmingly like copper. She looked over at Fenrir. His eyes glowed ominously. Slowly, Gabrielle lifted it to her mouth and bit into it, never looking away. Fenrir leaned forward, eager. Gabrielle barely tested the rotten, bloody apple on her tongue, reveling in the way that Fenrir watched her.

She swallowed.

"Don't you like your breakfast, Gabrielle?" Fenrir asked, softly.

"I do. Thank you, Fenrir." She took another bite and swallowed.

Fenrir leaned back in his chair, smiling softly. He looked outside.

"It looks like rain," he commented softly.

Gabrielle took another bite. "I suppose it does," she said softly. She leaned her cheek on her hand and took another bite of the apple. It was nearly done. It tasted like blood—the bloody taste that was always on the back of her tongue. "Do I look different to you, Fenrir?"

"You do," he allowed.

"Do you still think me pretty? Your pretty, little Miss Gabrielle," Gabrielle taunted, her eyes bright and Fenrir's smile broadened. She had never noticed how sharp all of his teeth were.

"Oh, sweetheart...you've never looked more beautiful."

Gabrielle leaned back in her chair and slammed down the apple core onto the porcelain plate. It shattered from the force of her fist.

So, this was what it was like to be at war.

 **ON**

"I miss you," Harry said, gently as he walked around Tonks' room.

It was larger than their rooms at the Burrow II combined. It was grand, covered in velvets and silks, like Tonks might've had if she had been raised as a proper Slytherin. It was clear that Andromeda was trying to make up in some way. Teddy's little trundle bed was tucked against a wall, scattered with toys and soft pillows and rugs. His play area, clearly.

"I miss you too," Tonks said, readily. "We haven't had the time to talk. You've been busy being King."

"You've been busy making me King," Harry retorted with a laugh. He crawled onto Tonks' bed, collapsing at her side and looked up at her.

"Fine. We're both busy," Tonks chuckled and Harry nodded.

"War is hard, Tonks. War is hard because I...this doesn't feel like war. And I'm afraid of you all dying. I'm afraid of what will happen if I lose," Harry confessed and Tonks looked down at him, her lips curled into a bright smile.

"Oh, Harry. You don't have to worry about that. I won't let you lose," Tonks said, honestly and Harry broke into a loud laugh that slowly tapered off into a soft sob that he swallowed staring down at the bedspread. Slowly, he closed his eyes.

His heart ached.

"I love him," Harry whispered, his voice cracking.

Tonks' eyes softened and she held her hand out to him. "I know."

Harry's eyes welled with tears and he strangled the sob in his throat, refusing to cry. But, the way that Tonks looked at him...the tears spilled over anyway. He took her hand, like an anchor. She pulled him towards the bed, pulling his face into her shoulder. Harry clung to her and let out a heartbroken sob.

"He doesn't...he won't…"

"He does," Tonks insisted, her voice hard. "He loves you, Harry."

Harry pulled back to look at her, searching her face for a lie. Tonks only stared back at him. Harry let out a quiet hiss as he attempted to pull himself together.

"I've never...Tonks, you _know_ , I've never wanted anything or anyone like I wanted him. And I want him to love me. I want him to feel like he can't survive without me. Do you know what he told me? Before I even knew what it meant... _inwi nwaly ten'ke._ "

Tonks frowned. "I only know enough of the ancient language to get by. But, that's even older. It's archaic sounding. What does it mean?" Tonks asked, curiously.

" 'I ache for you'," Harry murmured. "I love him and he killed my parents. I love him and he's killed your father. I love him and he has done nearly all he could to turn this empire into nothing."

Tonks didn't deny any of those things. She couldn't. Every single word was true.

"He has done all of those things and you love him anyway. Harry, you have this enormous capacity to love and there is no shame in that. You fight for the people that you love. You _save_ the people that you love. You. Saved. Him," Tonks said, firmly and Harry stared into her wide eyes. "From himself. From the people that would kill him. And that is not your job. It is not your job, to go around saving people but, it is what you do. You saved him."

"You think I _want_ to love him?" Harry hissed. "He's annoying. He doesn't _listen_ to me. He thinks he's always right!"

"He's a man, Harry," Tonks drawled.

"I'm a man!"

"He never had to want for anything. He's not like us. We're survivors. He's never had to survive like us," Tonks said, pointedly.

"This is true."

Harry jumped and he looked up. McGonagall walked in from the balcony, her goblet in hand.

"How long has she been here?" Harry hissed, his eyes bright with fear.

Tonks shrugged. "Madame McGonagall enjoys wine. My mother makes sure that I have the best wine," Tonks said. "I didn't think you were going to drop a truth like that. I would've told you."

Harry groaned, shoving Tonks in the shoulder. She laughed, shaking her head and Harry crawled towards the edge of the bed, crossing his legs under him.

"I'm so sorry, Madame. Please don't hate me," Harry begged.

McGonagall scoffed. "Oh, Harry, when you've lived as long as I, you find it very hard to hate anyone unless you have a very good reason. I hate the Dark Lord but you? You have a great capacity to love, just as Tonks said. I couldn't hate you for that. Your love is what makes you fight. Your love for your friends, your family, your _people_ , your _empire_."

Harry nodded and suddenly, he thought about the Patronus Charm. This might be a memory he would use, a stronger one. The acceptance without any judgment. Just neverending love and pride and trust from the two women he respected more than anything in the world. He gave a small smile.

"Madame, why do you fight?" Harry asked.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "You know why."

"Because you fight for what's right. I want to think that's why I fight. But, sometimes...I don't know. All I want is peace again. Think...I have never lived during a time of peace, and that has all been caused by the man I love," Harry said. Every time he said it, it made it easier to digest, easier to say. McGonagall looked at him without judgment, her lips curled into a soft smile.

"Peace? Do you think that's we had under your grandfather?" Madame McGonagall asked. She looked at Harry with a long gaze, as if she saw something in Harry that she had never seen before. "Peace never lasts, my dear. Will you take a bit of advice from an old woman that has loved and lost much?"

"Yes," Harry whispered.

"Your lover is a clever man, your Grace," McGonagall said, ignoring Harry's blush. "I've known a great many clever men. I've outlived them all. You know why? I ignored them."

Tonks let out a bubble of laughter, looking away from the two of them. "The lords of Albion are sheep."

McGonagall nodded. "And you are not a lord, and so you are not a sheep. You have never been a lord. You have been amongst the lowest of us and have risen to be more than a lord. So, yes the lords of Albion are sheep and when they aren't, they are _snakes_ as Lord Voldemort is. Are you a sheep?" McGonagall watched Harry shake his head. "No. You're a lion. The alpha lion. _Be_ a lion."

 **THE**

She had always liked the sound of waves crashing. It sounded like the dull roaring in her mind. It was nice to know that there was something in the outside world that mimicked what the inside of her brain always felt like, always sounded like. When it was outside, that meant the inside was quiet. Her head hadn't been so quiet in years.

Bellatrix waved her driftwood wand, stripping off the glamours. Her eyes darkened from lavender to violet, her hair darkened to black. She looked down at her raw, bloodied feet. She could barely feel it. She could barely feel anything anymore. Bellatrix took a staggering step forward, away from the shores. Her mind grew louder. She had no time for quiet minds or quiet hearts.

 _Rage, rage._

Bellatrix took another step, her eyes trained on the vast expanse.

She didn't know how large Eshnur was. It didn't matter.

She would massacre every inhabitant on the island. She would rage and fight because she was fueled by magic and fury. Bellatrix would have blood. She would have the world bleed beneath her just as her feet bled. She would have the world hurt. She would have them all hurt.

Narcissa, for stealing from her.

Andromeda, for abandoning her.

The Fairest, for existing.

Tom. For his betrayal.

Tom, she would never have blood for. Tom, how she loved him. Tom. The thought of him made her take another step forward though all she wanted to do was collapse. She wanted to turn back and walk back towards the dock, though the ship that had brought her to Eshnur was long gone. She wanted a warm bed in an inn. She wanted to change out of her water-logged, salt-stained clothing. But, she did not stop.

She couldn't stop.

If she was a weaker woman, she would pray to the gods. She would beg for mercy from her crumbling state. Her promise to the Sea Warlock clung to her lock, sealed by the wand that she held in hand. His mermaid, his mermaid. The Deathless' tomb.

Bellatrix took another step forward, tearing the cut on her ankle open again.

She did not stop.

If she was weaker, she would beg for mercy.

"The gods have no mercy, that's why they're gods," she told herself.

Tom. Her Tom.

Bellatrix had loved him once. She loved him still. It poisoned her. Love was poison. A sweet poison, but, it would kill her. Just as love had killed every other fool that had existed.

Helene.

Lily.

Pandora.

Pandora, Pandora, Pandora.

She wanted to die. Bellatrix wanted to _die_ , in her half-cursed, beautiful damned state. Neither alive nor dead. She was nothing in the wind. The gods had abandoned her. Her brother, her other half, had abandoned her. And if Bellatrix looked into a mirror and begged to see him, she would find him in love with the little bitch whose heart she would eat from his chest, savage and animal and raw. She would bite it from his chest and feast on it, bathing in his blood.

Young and beautiful and damned.

By fairest blood, it would be done.

And still, as she wandered, stumbling across the rocky shores, she went forward towards the Deathless' tomb, wanting to die.

"But, what we say to the Stranger, Death?" she rasped. "Not _yet._ Not today. Not ever."

 **WALL**

"My love, they're coming," Rodolphus whispered in her ear, dragging his fingers through the long waist-length hair that looked like spun silver. Luna looked up at him with wide eyes. He didn't need to tell her who was coming.

Luna always knew things like that.

"When?" she whispered, instead.

"Soon. I can't tell you when. It's dangerous. But, I'll get you out. I swear it. I'll always find you," Rodolphus murmured into the crown of her head. Luna laughed, softly, shaking her head.

"Oh, I know, you silly man," she murmured. "The Wyrdfod is coming to save us all, and I will always find you."

"I wish I could bring you with me. I have asked the Dark Lord," Rodolphus admitted. He hated to admit that he had practically fallen to his knees, begging. The Dark Lord had simply stared at him and scoffed, telling him to do as he pleased and to get off his knees like a beggar.

"And he has said, yes, I'm sure. He remembers me," Luna said, serenely.

Rodolphus frowned. "I don't think he does."

Luna's eyes flashed. "My love, he _remembers_."

"How are you so sure?"

"Because he remembers my mother," Luna said, firmly, and Rodolphus knew that was the end of that particular conversation. They had spoken about Luna's mother only thrice, and each time had ended in tears. He would not ask her to relive the terrible memories of the City-States over again. Not when she carried the scars on her body when he carried the scars on his face.

"Come with me, Luna. Please. I have a Portkey," Rodolphus insisted.

Luna shook her head. She looked outside. It was too late to go to sleep when she would be leaving so soon.

"My Lady needs me," Luna said instead.

"Luna, she isn't even going to be—"

"It doesn't matter," Luna said, sternly. She looked at him with that impenetrable stare that always stopped him in his tracks. "She is my friend and I won't abandon my friend. We all have our place, my love. My place is here, with my Lady. Your place is out there with your Lord."

Rodolphus stared at her. She was so young. It was hard to remember how young Luna was sometimes. Her eyes were so old. She had lived as much as he and she was stubborn and smart and strong. And he loved her more than anything. His stomach turned at the idea of leaving her in the belly of the beast. If it all went to hell, he wouldn't see her again. Not until the end.

"During the battle, come to my side. Find me. Fight to me," Rodolphus said, grabbing her hands in his much larger ones, bringing them to his lips. He kissed her knuckles.

"I will try my best," Luna said, gently.

"Don't try, Luna. Do," Rodolphus whispered. "I don't think I can do this without you."

Luna's eyes narrowed. "Rodolphus, no. If one of us dies...if _I_ die, you can live without me. If you die, I can live without you. It will be hard. It will be the hardest thing either one of us will ever do but, you must do it. If you love me. If you respect me."

"Are you going to die?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

Luna shook her head. "Not today."

She pulled away from him, slowly, her eyes so gentle as they roved over his face, memorizing every inch of him. She committed him to the memory of her eyes, her hands, her body. And then Luna smiled up at him, soft and sweet.

"I must go. I want to make sure my Lady's wardrobe is completely packed. I will find you on the battlefield," she promised and she slipped through the door, disappearing like moonlight at dawn.

 **WHO**

Hermione stared out of the carriage window, bouncing to and fro as it rattled along the path. She let her head fall into the window frame. Every time the carriage rolled over a small bump, her head thumped painfully against the wood. She didn't move away. The pain reminded her that she was alive.

She was getting married soon. She was getting married in _seven_ days. Seven days and she would lose her Muggle last name. She would lose her Republic ties. She would lose her inheritance, and every piece of her, every part stolen would be called Slytherin. She'd be a Slytherin.

Hermione swore then if she ever called herself Slytherin, she would kill herself.

She had never meant anything else more.

Hermione only pulled back into the carriage when she made eye contact with Antonin Dolohov. He smirked at her, a filthy thing the made her feel covered with slime. She felt filthier than when Draco had made her watch Pansy Parkinson suck his cock. This was the man that Narcissa trusted more than anyone. Or rather, the man she trusted as much as Bartemius Crouch.

Hermione bit her lip, wishing that Barty was with her instead of being called away by the Dark Lord. Hermione felt spite run through her.

"With the Dark Lord attend the wedding?" she asked, finally turning towards Narcissa.

Narcissa hadn't looked away from since they'd been loaded into the carriage hours before dawn. Hermione suspected that the woman had been watching her even when she slept.

"My brother has said that he will be there. And he must be there. You will be crowned," Narcissa said, her impenetrable and flat as always. "Are you concerned?"

"He just...he hasn't been around," Hermione said, full of uncertainty.

Narcissa frowned. "I suspect that he...he still mourns our sister."

"And you don't?" Hermione challenged.

"I do not," Narcissa retorted.

She frowned then as if she had said too much. Hermione stared back at her, triumphant, in some strange way.

"I don't know how to be a queen," Hermione said.

"It is simple. I was queen in all but name," Narcissa said. "You provide heirs. You wave. You smile, when you should. You frown when you should. You strike when you must. You do not flinch."

"Provide heirs?" Hermione whispered.

Even her body would not be her own. And still, she heard Narcissa's other words echoing in her hindbrain: _You smile. You frown. You strike. Do not flinch. Do. Not. Flinch._

"The greatest honor for a woman is bringing her children into the world," Narcissa said, her voice quiet as she looked out upon the landscape, peering out on the passing roads, the people hovering on the edges of the forest, too curious for their own good. "Or rather, in my case, one child. Have you ever wondered why I only have one child?"

"I...I suppose," Hermione said, though it wasn't a thought that she had ever really considered. She had assumed that it was because Narcissa didn't love Lucius enough to sleep with him again or vice versa. After all, Narcissa had practically banished him from court.

"I couldn't have another. Draco has always been difficult," Narcissa said, firmly. It was the first time to Hermione's knowledge that Narcissa had ever acknowledged the terror that was her only son. "At his birth, I labored nearly three days. The pain was indescribable. He tore my insides and ravaged me, and after that, I could bear no more children."

She said it so matter of factly. Hermione winced. The thought of that kind of pain was unimaginable. And yet, this woman made it sound like it was nothing.

"Was...was Lord Malfoy upset?" Hermione asked, softly.

"Lord Malfoy was away. On a mission for my brother. When he returned, he would present me with jewels. He always did. Most typically, sapphires," Narcissa said. Hermione wondered if the sapphire teardrop jewels that weighed heavy on her earlobes were such a gift from her husband. "But, my brother...he always stayed by my side. My brother and my sister. Bella. When the matrons said that they weren't allowed into the birthing room, they forced their way in. They said they should be present for the birth of the first Slytherin child. They sounded as proud of him as if he were they own. In a way, he was."

She sounded far away. Narcissa lifted her head and looked out of the window as if she could see into the past.

"He was," Hermione repeated, prompting. Narcissa nodded.

"Draco will offer you no such devotion," Narcissa said, coldly. Hermione winced at the woman's words. "You may never love the King but, you will love his children."

"I love King Draco," Hermione said, immediately. Narcissa looked at her a long time and then, slowly, tauntingly, rolled her eyes. She gave a cold smile.

"I'm sure," she said. "Allow me to share some wisdom with you on this day. Consider it a wedding gift from your new mother: the more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you truly shouldn't do. That you _know_ you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to keep them happy and safe. Love no one but your children. On that front, a mother has no choice."

And Hermione knew then that Narcissa knew. She knew about Barty and Luna and even, Daphne. She knew that Hermione held them close in her heart, that Hermione had only stayed because of the people she adored, the people she wanted to keep safe. Narcissa knew, and she was playing the game too, only Hermione hadn't known that was her true opponent. And now that Hermione knew, she also knew that she would lose.

"Lady Narcissa, are you content with staying in this carriage?" Hermione whispered.

"Never," Narcissa said.

Hermione nodded and pushed her head out of the carriage, looking around. "Someone get us two horses! The Lady Narcissa and I would like to ride in the open air!" she shouted. Slowly, the carriage creaked to a stop, the guards spinning into action at Hermione's command.

Hermione pulled back into the carriage and stared at her future mother. Narcissa's expression was never-changing, just like ice, but Hermione thought she understood her eyes a bit better.

 **IS**

"Harry. You must stay behind me," Tonks repeated for what felt like the thousandth time as Fred, George, Remus, and Kingsley rowed their oars in tandem. She stood on the helm, draped in two cloaks—her ever-present red cloak and then a black cloak over it. She was staring straight ahead through the gloom, her eyes narrowed.

"I know," Harry sighed.

"And keep your hood up," Tonks said. "We're going to pretend you're Barty."

"Your Patronus is good. You'll be okay," Remus said with a half-smile.

"My Patronus doesn't have a form yet," Harry murmured, slightly disappointed. Every time he had cast the Patronus Charm, he thought long and hard about his happiest memories—laughing with Tonks, training with Ron, arriving at Westeron.

Still, none of it was enough. He still only produced a white shield. It was good, according to Remus. But, Harry knew it wasn't good enough. As he looked up at Azkaban, he could already feel his happiness draining away, leaving only a pit of despair low in his pelvis. The tower was enormous, the color of ash, and swirling around the top were what he could only assume were dementors.

Harry looked back at Tonks and watched as her face seemed to melt and twist. First came the perfectly straight nose, the sharp jawline. Her pink hair turned darker and straighter. Her eyes brightened to violet. Harry shivered when the Mad Queen turned her wild eyes onto him. Harry swallowed and looked straight ahead.

"It's only me," she said.

It didn't sound like her.

Harry lurched when they finally hit the rocky shore. He looked towards the shore and winced when he saw little pieces of driftwood jutting out from the shore. Graves, he realized

"This is...this is...so cruel," Harry whispered.

Tom had the capacity for so much cruelty that sometimes, it scared Harry.

"It is what it is. But, we're going to save Sirius," Fred said, firmly, bumping gently against Harry's back. Harry nodded, never tearing his eyes away from the tower. He looked up.

Drifting past one of the windows was a dementor. It was humanoid in shape but, much larger. It was about Hagrid's size, covered in a dark hooded cloak of long, tattered black cloth. It had large hands that glistened, greyish and slimy in the cool air. Harry shivered. It was so cold. The dementor seemed to turn towards them and it let out a deep rattle that seemed to echo.

Harry realized that the dementor was rattling to the others, alerting them that they were there.

"It's going to know. It's going to know," George whispered, tugging his cloak further over his head. Kingsley cleared his throat.

"Not immediately. They aren't going to know immediately," Kingsley corrected.

"But, eventually?" Fred whispered.

Kingsley nodded. "Eventually, they'll notice that Tonks isn't...well," he trailed off and they continued to follow. Harry stayed close to Tonks' side as she glided forward, keeping her face as still as possible.

"How many prisoners are here?" Harry whispered.

Tonks hummed. "Not many. Two dozen, at most. Those that are forgotten or disloyal to the crown. The Founders used Azkaban as well," Tonks said, gently.

Harry shook his head. "When I'm King...there will be no more of _them,_ " Harry said, hesitant of calling their names for fear that they would hear.

Tonks hummed as she approached the great concrete doors. She lifted her hands and slowly drew her wand over her palm, splitting the skin. She smeared the blood across the door and Harry watched it creak open.

"She's a Slytherin," Remus murmured. "I guess there's the proof."

"Did you really doubt me?" Tonks-as-Bellatrix asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"Well, I'd hoped you weren't," Remus muttered as they entered Azkaban Prison.

Harry shivered. Somehow, it was even colder inside. He could see his breath, cloudy and full with every breath. He glanced over at the twins and shuddering so hard that their teeth chattered. Harry wasn't surprised. They were both from Karnaron. At least, Harry grew up in Little Whinging which was on the border of Essetir and Gamalaot, the East and the North.

The entrance hall to Azkaban Prison was exactly as Harry had pictured it. It was all cold stone and concrete. The ceilings were high and it was lit only by the weak, grey light that streamed inside through the slit windows.

"Patronuses, now," Tonks murmured as they passed another dementor that rattled gently and Harry felt his despair grow. Tonks' teeth were clenched as she forced herself to take another step forward.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," Remus and Kingsley cast together.

Harry watched as two animals lept forth—a large wolf and a lynx. They were both gorgeous creatures of light and the dementors seemed to cower away from it, passing high over their heads. Harry felt some of his warmth return but, he could still see his breath.

Tonks held up her chin and continued forward eyes cold.

Suddenly, a great dementor, larger than all the rest, swooped down in front of them, unafraid of the two Patronuses that stood as sentries on either side of the group. It hovered just at the foot of the steps that they had attempted to ascend. The dementor was draped in silver cloth and seemed slightly stooped, as if it were elderly but, Harry knew that was impossible. He knew then, that this was an Old One—one of the first dementors.

It rattled threateningly at them.

"We are Queen Bellatrix the Beautiful. You will allow us through," Tonks-as-Bellatrix spat, furiously and the dementor lingered for only a moment, reaching out with its large hand. "Keep your _filthy_ hands from us. We are the Queen-Empress of Albion!"

Her shrieks echoed back at them painfully, bouncing around the Entrance Hall. The dementor regarded her for a long moment, only waiting. Harry held his breath, slowly reaching into his cloak for his wand.

And the dementor gave a soft rattle before it ascended back to its spot on the ceiling. Though Harry knew dementors to be blind, he had the feeling of being watched anyway.

"That was scary," Fred whispered.

"Definitely scary," George confirmed.

"Let us go," Tonks-as-Bellatrix said, haughty and terrifying.

Quickly, they ascended the stairs, following Tom's instructions. He had had Sirius locked away at the top floor of the tower, terribly alone. It had been part of his torture, according to Tom, though that had been Bellatrix's idea—not his. He'd been adamant about that. Harry had winced through the description anyway.

Slowly, they ascended the stone steps, their footsteps echoing throughout the entire prison. Harry had no doubt that every prisoner there knew that someone else was in this prison. He wondered if that was purposeful. Their presence was meant to bring terror to a terrifying existence. Harry shook his head. He knew for certain that he would return to free all of the prisoners—every man, woman, or creature—that was locked away in this terrible place.

He would banish the dementors, these soul-sucking creatures that would haunt his nightmares.

They were all out of breath by the time they reached the top.

There was only one hallway.

They could hear his breathing.

Tonks held up her wand. " _Lumos_ ," she breathed in her not-voice. The end of her wand lit up brightly, casting everything in a ghostly light.

Harry pressed himself closer to her side as they approached the very last cell. He backed up against the wall as Tonks approached the bars.

Sirius Black looked nothing and everything like Harry had expected. His skin looked dusty and pale, nothing like Regulus' smooth brown skin. His hair was long, past his hips and though it looked matted and dirty, Sirius had tried to maintain it in a simple braid over his shoulder. That didn't help that the end looked like they had been gnawed at by rats. His robes hung off him in tatters, and though he looked tall, he was backed against the corner of his cell, in a little crouch.

The entire floor stunk of urine and shit. Harry glanced at the bucket in the corner of the cell.

That explained it.

"T-the Mad Queen has decided to grace me with his presence."

Harry leaned against the opposite wall, shivering as Kingsley and Remus's Patronuses patrolled the hall, walking back and forth, guarding them against the dementors that lurked.

She had barely changed her natural face at all, only sharpening it, making her hair darker and straighter. She looked far too much like Bellatrix for her comfort.

"Sirius Black, I have come to make a deal with you," Tonks-as-Bellatrix said, her voice soft and lilting, sending a chill down Harry's spine. It sounded so strange and terribly wrong coming out of Tonks' mouth. That terrifying voice.

Sirius gave a rusty laugh that shrieked in Harry's ears, making him cringe despite his resolve to stay composed.

"A-a deal? N-now, why would I make a deal with you? M-my m-mother, though a bloody bitch, always said to avoid d-d-deals with demons and other abominations," Sirius mocked and he stood, wobbling on fatless legs, made of bones and loose skin. He grinned with a mouth full of crooked, yellow teeth.

"I come to free you," Tonks said and she shed her disguise as easily as a molting snake. Sirius jerked back as Tonks' hair shrunk into her head, turning into pink spikes, and her face rounded out somewhat. "I'm Tonks and I'm a member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"T-that was a trick. Who are you really?" Sirius barked, full of fury. Remus emerged from the shadows, lifting his hands. Sirius cringed, thrown off by the emergence of one of his oldest friends. "Who are you?"

"Sirius, no. It's really us. It's _me_ ," Remus whispered.

"Prove it," Sirius snapped.

"Padfoot. It's me. Moony," Remus murmured, reaching through the bars and grabbing at Sirius' hands, smoothing his thumbs over the jagged, broken nails on his friend's bony hands. Sirius let out a broken sob, falling against the bars. "We're here to save you. It's really the Order."

"H-how? H-how are you…" Sirius broke off, weeping noisily.

"Your Grace...there's not much time," Kingsley warned from the end of the corridor.

Sirius looked up, wide-eyed. "G-Grace?"

And Harry pushed off the wall, pulling down his hood, easily catching Sirius' attention.

"Sirius Black," Harry said, softly.

"Who are you, boy?" Sirius murmured.

"I'm Harry Potter, son of Lily Gryffindor and James Potter. And we're here to break you out of Azkaban. Stand back," Harry said, firmly. He knew that there wasn't a single spell that would unlock the bars but he wasn't afraid. Tonks and Remus backed away from the doors. Harry glanced over his shoulder. "How's it looking?"

"Dementors are close. Tonks, Remus, help?" Fred shouted.

Remus hesitated, looking back at Sirius before turning to look at the twins.

"I'm not leaving Harry alone. You know I won't," Tonks said, refusing to look away. Remus sighed and nodded, reaching to squeeze her wrist.

"I can't leave Sirius. You know I won't," he said patiently.

Harry rolled his eyes. "We'll just hurry this up. Do you think I can blast it open?" Harry asked.

"No," Tonks said, firmly. "It's spelled to be resistant to magic. He's thin. Sirius, do you think you can slip through the bars?"

"N-no. I've tried," Sirius whispered.

"Well, I'm going to try to blast it open," Harry promised, lifting his wand with eyes narrowed. He glanced over his shoulder. "I'm going to try to break the door open. My Patronus might drop. But, keep it up."

Remus' eyes narrowed. "Wait. Have you tried...your other form, Sirius?"

Sirius' grey eyes widened, awe shoving aside his despair for a moment.

"N-no, I'll…" Sirius began and then he lurched, falling to his knees and squirming and shifting. Harry watched with wide eyes as Sirius' face elongated into a longer nose, and black fur sprouted along his skin until in his place was a rather large if emaciated, dog.

"What...he doesn't have a wand!" Harry protested.

"He's an Animagus," Tonks said in wonder. She looked over at Remus with wide eyes. "Why did you never tell me?"

"This isn't really the time," Remus said, flatly before turning back towards Sirius. "Come on, Padfoot. Squeeze through!"

Harry knew the exact moment that it was over. Sirius slipped through the bars and then Kingsley was shouting. Harry couldn't exactly make out what he was saying because the despair was deafening. Harry threw himself back as the dementors swooped down the hall, their cloth draped faces parted over the wide, rotting mouths. Harry felt so cold, like every bit of warm in the world was missing. He tried to call his Fire but, he found only ashes.

Harry's vision began to blur.

Fred and George were clutching one another, trying to keep themselves from toppling over. Remus was whining softly. Tonks was standing ramrod straight, unmoving, her eyes flickering across the air. Harry fell to one knee, crumbling under the weight of such sadness.

And then, his hand brushed against fur. He looked down as Padfoot pushed against his side. Harry let out a deep breath, shuddering. He was going to die in Azkaban. He was going to die before saving the Muggleborn girl, before fighting for the throne that was his, before delivering justice. He was going to die without telling Tom that he loved him, that he was _loved_ , no matter what he believed, one more time.

 _Tom._

Harry slowly pushed himself to stand as the largest dementor—the Old One— swooped up in front of him and loomed, reaching out to him with it's large, scabbed, grey claw. He felt one nail brush against his forehead, where his scar was. The only blemish that had ever been on his skin. The lightning bolt. He would die before seeing him again.

 _Tom._ His _Tom._

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ "

Out of the end of his wand burst forth a great white beast. Harry watched as the white form took shape; tall, proud antlers, and large heave body. Harry trembled as his guardian took a step forward.

"Prongs," Remus whispered.

The stag thundered forward, battling back the dementors, sending them flying away in bursts of white light. As the Patronus cantered back and forth, scattering the harbingers of fear, Harry felt his warmth return and the Patronus seemed to burn even brighter, as bright as the sun. He let out a deep breath, breathing through the rush of magic until all the dementors were gone.

Slowly, Prongs flickered away and there was a long moment of silence.

Remus looked at Harry with an expression that Harry had never seen before.

"You...I understand," Remus whispered.

Harry took a deep shuddering breath, trembling with exhaustion. He felt a hand on his elbow and he looked back at Tonks. Terror pulsed through his body.

"What?" Harry rasped.

Tonks shook her head and grabbed Harry's hand. "It's time to go. It's time to _run._ "

 **FAIREST**

"I cast a Patronus. _I_ cast a Patronus. And you can't," Harry laughed as he fell on the mess of blankets and pillows that acted as his bed whenever he was on a mission. He rolled his eyes when Tom barely acknowledged him, choosing instead to look at the tent wall while he slouched in his chair, calmly drinking wine.

"Sirius Black is out there, mad from years of prison, and all you can consider is that you can cast a little Charm that I cannot," Tom drawled.

Harry sat up, grinning. "It's not a little Charm, Tom. You can't go to Azkaban by yourself because you can't cast a Patronus. That's a little sad," he teased.

"Yes, very well. Ignore the first part of my sentence. Sirius Black. This is a terrible idea," Tom growled, draining the rest of his goblet and slamming it down on the side table. Harry sat back on his haunches, knotting his fingers in the blankets.

"Are you afraid of him?"

"I'm not afraid of anyone," Tom barked.

"You're afraid of me," Harry retorted.

Tom scoffed. "You're not just anyone, are you?"

Harry's cheeks flushed with pleasure and Tom tried not to smile, rolling his eyes as Harry beamed at him. They stared at each other for a long moment, drinking one another in. Harry squirmed through the tense silence. Slowly, Harry's smile faded into something more serious.

"I won't let anyone change my mind about you, Tom," Harry said. He crawled forward until he was kneeling just in front of Tom's spread legs and he smoothed his hands up Tom's shins, over his knees before digging his nails into the meat of his thighs. "Nothing can change my mind."

"Change your mind about what?" Tom asked, his eyes burning bright as he looked down at Harry.

"You are not bad," Harry said, firmly.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You have done terrible things, Tom Slytherin but, you are not bad," Harry whispered. Tom stared down at him for a long moment before he leaned down, softly pressing their lips together. Harry reached up with one hand, pressing his fingers into the back of Tom's neck, holding him there as they shared a sweet kiss, made more of air than anything else.

Harry pulled back and his lips curled with mischief.

"What are you smirking about, sweetling?" Tom asked, leaning back in his chair again.

Harry hummed, leaning back on his haunches.

"I seem to remember something you said to me once," Harry said.

"I've said many things to you," Tom allowed.

" 'I want to teach you how to suck a man's cock'," Harry mimicked as easily as breathing. Tom choked over air, looking down at the King with wide eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"Teach me how to suck cock," Harry demanded, crossing his arms and staring up at Tom, defiantly. Tom swallowed around his suddenly dry mouth and he felt his cock twitch in his tight trousers. Harry's lips curled into a smile. So, he'd seen that too.

"You're feeling particularly bratty today, aren't you?" Tom asked, attempting to deflect.

Harry ignored it. "Teach me how to suck your cock, my _Lord_ ," Harry drawled.

Tom groaned, letting his head fall back against his chair.

"We just broke a man out of prison," the Dark Lord reminded him.

Harry whined, "I just want to suck your cock, Tom. Every man wants to get their cock sucked and you suck mine enough. Let me return the favor."

"Gods above. Let's do this on the—" Tom began, standing suddenly and unlacing his trousers when Harry reached up and shoved him back in his chair. Tom looked down at him, suddenly alarmed.

"No...I...I want to do it here," Harry said, firmly. His cheeks were flushed pink but, he looked up at the man, determined. Tom swallowed and nodded, leaning up to push his trousers down over his thighs, revealing the half-mast cock resting on his thighs.

"Harry…" Tom started.

Harry leaned forward, bracing himself on Tom's knees. He looked up through his eyelashes, and Tom groaned again, his cock growing harder by the second.

"Just...it probably won't be any good," Harry apologized.

Tom swallowed. "You strike me as a fast learner. Just...put it in your mouth, don't use your teeth, and anything you can't fit in your mouth, cover with your hand."

Harry looked up at him, unimpressed, and opened his mouth to say something that would no doubt be snarky before he thought better of it. Instead, a coy look crossed his face and he leaned in, taking Tom's cock by the root and staring at it. Tom frowned down at him and went to taunt him before he gasped as Harry licked the underside, from root to the tip, chasing a vein with tongue. Harry smirked. He laid a kiss to the tip of his cock, licking gently around the head.

Tom couldn't look away.

"Somehow, love, I don't think you're going to have anything to complain about."

 **OF**

None of it felt real.

He felt like he was floating through the air.

He thinks about the boy. The boy that had said his name was Harry and Sirius didn't doubt it. He couldn't. The boy was beautiful. The most beautiful person Sirius had ever seen though, that might be due to the fact that Sirius had only seen terror for the past seventeen years. But, it hadn't been the hair that had convinced Sirius. It had been the boy's eyes.

He had Lily's _eyes_.

Sirius had never seen anyone else with eyes like Lily's.

"W-what do they call him?" Sirius rasped, shivering despite the layers of blankets wrapped around his shoulders.

"He has many titles," one of the twins said. Sirius wasn't sure yet which one it was—Fred or George. He was proud of himself for even remembering their names.

"But, he likes to be called the Tosser That Lives," the other twin said.

Sirius' eyes widened.

"Don't listen to them," Kingsley said, his voice deep, rumbling, and warm. It made Sirius feel safe, and he pressed closer to the flames, soaking in all of the warmth. "His list of titles is long. Only Tonks knows it all."

The pink-haired woman looked up at the sound of her name. Her lips quirked into a tired smile.

"Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, the Wyrdfod, Protector of the Realm, Lord of Afallon, the Alpha of the Pride, and the Fairest-of-Them-All," Tonks rattled off, as if it was committed to memory. Sirius didn't doubt that they were. He slowly parsed through them.

'Harry' just like Lily named him. 'Wildfyre' just like James called him.

Gryffindor. Potter. Emperor. King.

"What's the 'Wyrdfod'? 'The Fairest-of-Them All?" Sirius rasped.

Tonks' lips curled into a small smile and she looked out across the flames. Sirius followed her gaze and was stricken again by how old Remus looked. He looked aged in a way that Sirius' soul felt. And Remus wasn't looking at him. When Sirius had seen him again, he'd felt like weeping in happiness and grief. He hadn't. But, Remus did, and now, he couldn't look at him. Sirius wasn't surprised or hurt. It always took Remus a long time to process his emotions.

"The Wyrdfod is what the creatures call him. The Fairest...well you've seen him," Tonks said with a shrug.

Sirius nodded. Harry was beautiful. He was the most beautiful person Sirius had ever seen, including Lily. It was terrifying. It was awe-inspiring. It was wholly confusing.

"So...he's King? Really?" Sirius whispered. "The Slytherins fell?"

"We're at war," one of the twins said, sounding grim. "It...we've been a war for a long time but, all of this really started when on the anniversary of the Lily Gryffindor's death, the Slytherins executed our uncles. In front of everyone. And they declared that the Fairest, the true heir, lived. And then—"

"That's not our story to tell," Kingsley said, firmly and the twins fell silent, looking at one another before nodding at their superior. Kingsley looked at Sirius with kind eyes. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what his Grace wants you to know yet. You understand."

"I...I guess. I just...it's all happened so fast," Sirius whispered. He looked up, suddenly ashamed as his stomach rumbled. "May I have more food?"

"You don't need to ask," one of the twins said, pushing over the bowl of broth and a large chunk of hard bread. Sirius dug in, soaking the bread and ripping into it. It tasted so delicious after so many years of gruel, it might as well have been one of the feasts from Hogwarts.

Sirius wondered if there were still feasts like the ones from his childhood.

"Where are we going after this?" he asked between bites of food.

"Afallon. We're set up at Westeron. Harry decided you were too weak for Portkey travel right now. I'm inclined to believe he's right," Kingsley said, firmly.

Sirius looked up to the tent at the edge of the clearing, his eyes narrowed.

"And he's...he's in there?" he asked, softly.

Tonks pursed her lips. "Yes. He's in there. Discussing our next move."

"Alone?" Sirius asked.

One of the twins snorted. "Oh, he's not alone. I think they're finishing up."

Sure enough, Sirius saw shadows moving by the tent entrance and Harry backed out first, speaking in soft tones to someone that must be much taller. They slowly left the tent and Sirius gasped as if he'd been holding his breath for a long time.

"Voldemort?" Sirius whispered, a sudden chill running down his spine. Red eyes turned to him, and his lips were tilted in a satisfied smirk as he led Harry out of the tent towards the open. The Black leaned forward as Voldemort turned to look at Harry and whispered something low to him. Harry turned bright red and swiftly punched the man in the stomach.

"Harry! Run!" Sirius called, already cringing from the Cruciatus Curse that would come.

Harry looked up with a small frown and then smiled, waving.

"He's not running from him," Tonks said.

"I...I'm so confused," Sirius said, softly. "Voldemort? Why...he's here? What's happening?"

"Bellatrix is dead. Harry made a Deal. My uncle is his bitch," Tonks summarized around the roast meat that she was shoveling into her mouth.

Sirius' eyes widened.

"Uncle?" he asked, softly.

"Oh. Right. I'm Nymphadora Tonks. Andromeda's daughter. Wotcher, cousin," Tonks said with a wink and she stood up, her red cloak swinging around her. "I think...this would be better for Harry to explain. And don't worry, I'll keep Uncle away from you."

 **THEM**

Harry swallowed hard, still tasting Tom on the back of his tongue as he pushed open the tent flaps. He looked over at the fire and saw the twins laid out, curled towards one another, snoring softly. Kingsley was resting, his back pressed against conjured pillows. Tonks would be the first to take watch. She preferred sitting up, especially, if she had Remus at her side.

Sirius still wasn't sleeping, staring into the flames. Harry made a move towards him, intent on speaking with him when he was cut off by a lean figure.

Harry jumped as he looked up at Remus.

"Harry...I only wanted to speak with you for a moment," Remus said, softly. Harry looked up, his eyes wide and he wiped at his mouth again with the back of his hand, self-consciously. Remus' eyes widened at the movement and Harry flushed.

"I...uh...I just ate," Harry blurted out.

Remus stared at him for a bit longer before he nodded, preferring to take the blatant lie at face value than to really assess what Harry had been doing in the tent with the Dark Lord.

"Okay. But, could we speak?" Remus asked. "About Sirius."

"Oh. Yes. Of course," Harry said, waving him over towards the edge of the clearing. They began to pace, half of their faces cast in shadow and the other illuminated by the roaring fire. "Do you think he'll be well enough to travel by dawn?"

"I think so. A Portkey will take its toll but, it's better for him to heal in Westeron. Where we have the proper Healers and food and hot water and everything," Remus said, thinking of everything that must be luxuries to Sirius after having spent seventeen years imprisoned. "But, that's not what I wanted to talk about."

"Oh. I see. What is it?" Harry asked, pleasantly.

"I would...I know we've only just started to get to know one another. And that's my fault. Entirely. But, I'd ask that you...perhaps, would consider shielding Sirius from some of the baser facts of the war," Remus said as delicately as possible.

Harry stared at him, obstinately. "What do you mean?"

Remus' cheeks turned a dusty pink. "I mean...that perhaps, you shouldn't flaunt your relationship with the Dark Lord in front of him."

Harry stopped in his walking even as Remus continued. Remus stopped and turned around to look at him, his brow furrowed.

"How...do you mean?" Harry asked, softly.

"Harry, none of us are blind. Eventually, Sirius will find out about what you did to ensure the Dark Lord's loyalty. But, I don't think he should know about your current relationship. It'll only put a strain on him that we can't afford, especially when we need him to reach into his memories," Remus said, softly.

"I'm not ashamed of him," Harry whispered. "And I'm not going to act like I am to spare someone's feelings. Someone I don't even know."

"It's not only for his sake. What will people think—"

"People already _know_! You just told me that!" Harry shouted. He looked up and saw the eyes on them and he turned away from those grey curious eyes that sought him out. His eyes narrowed on Remus. "Do you not respect me? Because I choose to be with him?"

"No, not at all. I respect you, Harry. It's just...it's just carnal pleasure. Isn't it?" Remus asked. And then he saw the look on Harry's face like he was being cornered. "It isn't."

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Remus. Perhaps, we are friends now. But...I am still your King," Harry said, his voice trembling, his face torn between disbelief and fear. "You need to leave me alone."

"Harry, you can't _possibly_...he killed your parents. My best friends. He imprisoned the man I call my brother for seventeen years. Your godfather. He has murdered and tortured—"

"You think I don't know that?" Harry roared.

And the fire burned brighter, rising to his rage.

It stopped when a hand wrapped around his wrist. Harry looked up at Tonks, his eyes wide. She was watching Remus through carefully shuttered eyes.

"Remus, my dear, I need to talk to Harry for a moment," Tonks said. She didn't make it sound like a request. So, she was pulling rank. Remus glared at her and then collapsed in on himself, looking resigned.

"Fine. I'm going to check in on Sirius. The twins will keep him entertained but they might overwhelm him," Remus said. He stormed away and Harry let Tonks pull him deeper into shadows.

Harry pressed his hand over his mouth and screamed. Tonks let him.

"Fuck. _Fuck_ ," Harry hissed. "I can't... _fuck._ "

He looked up at Tonks, helplessly.

"You love him," Tonks reminded him.

It wasn't accusatory or angry. Just a fact that made Harry's cheeks bright red. He looked away, biting his lower lip.

"I…"

"Harry, love, you've already told me this. Don't be embarrassed," Tonks said, firmly. "And you don't need to apologize for it either. You _never_ have to apologize for being in love."

"Then, why is everyone...why does it feel like everyone hates me? I just...I can't help it," Harry whispered.

"He's very charming," Tonks allowed.

"That's not it!" Harry said immediately. Tonks looked at him, surprised. "He's not…I know things about him, Tonks. I know things that he's never told _anyone_ before. Things about his past, about what he had to do. Things that he didn't want to do. Things that warped him anyway. I know his monsters. I know his nightmares and how terribly sad he is and I love him anyway. I love him so much it hurts. And then, I remember that he is a terrible man that has done terrible things."

Harry looked over at Tonks. He saw nothing but complete and utter understanding and he was without fear of judgment or shame.

"Harry, of course, you love him," she sighed, almost exasperated, though she smiled. "We are all fools in love."

"I won't be," Harry said, firmly. He took a step back and looked over at the flames. Sirius was staring at him now. Harry cleared his throat. "I need to speak with Sirius."

Tonks nodded. "I'll keep watch. Remus doesn't mean any harm, you know," Tonks said, almost apologetically. Harry didn't answer, walking towards Sirius instead.

As Harry drew closer to the flames, he grew more and more comforted. He sat down in the dirt, looking up at Sirius.

"Hello, Sirius Black. I'm Harry Wildfyre," Harry said with a small smile.

Sirius swallowed, looking down at him, wide-eyed.

"You're James' son. Lily's son?" Sirius asked, his voice cracking and breaking.

"Yes. I am," Harry said, kindly.

Sirius swallowed hard. "I didn't...you're not what I pictured," Sirius said.

"I'm not what anyone pictures," Harry said, biting his lip against the wide smile that threatened to spread across his face. He reached back towards the flames, dragging his fingers through it. He laughed softly at the look on Sirius' face. "I'm sure you have many questions. I'll try to answer all of them."

"Voldemort?" Sirius asked, immediately.

Harry hummed, looking out into the shadows where Tom had disappeared.

"Many things have changed while you were away, Sirius. The Dark Lord is loyal to me. Only me," Harry said, gently.

"You can't really—"

"He made an Unbreakable Vow to be loyal to me in perpetuity," Harry interrupted. He smiled at the stricken look on Sirus' face and he reached out to grab the older man's trembling hands, warming them with the fire that he gripped tight in his fists. "Sirius, I told you. The world has changed. But, it's late and we shouldn't talk about it now."

"Why? There's so much...I don't know...where are there bodies?" Sirius asked, his voice broken.

Harry hushed him gently with a quiet smile. "I've been to their tomb, Sirius. And it's beautiful. When it's all over, we'll go together. Now, sleep. In the morning, we go home."

 **ALL?**

Regulus stood on the steps of Westeron, his fingers laced with Andromeda's. Every few moments, she would squeeze his hand and he would squeeze back, to anchor himself. It had been a day but, he hadn't been able to go inside or do anything since the King and his cohorts had left. Dawn was nearing. Regulus knew that the moment that Sirius was up to it, they would arrive.

"Do you think he's...is he…" Regulus trailed off, his voice cracking on his words. He felt so young, far younger than he truly was. Andromeda looked down at him with a sad look and shook her head.

"I don't think he's whole but...I know he's alive, Regulus. I can feel it," Andromeda said, firmly. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him tight against her. For once, Regulus liked that his surrogate mother was taller than him. He pressed his face into her neck and trembled as he suppressed his tears.

He pulled away from her as he felt the air change and tremble with magic. Regulus was holding his breath, his heart beating loud between his ears. He watched the space in front of the steps warp and turn blue, and suddenly, they were there.

Remus and Tonks stood on either side of the pair of them. The Dark Lord was towards the back of the group, with the twins and Kingsley. They all looked a little worse for wear, with the exception of the Dark Lord, and in dire need of some chocolate. Regulus wished that he had had the foresight to have someone prepare hot chocolate for them all after such great exposure to dementors.

But, in truth, Regulus only had eyes for the two men in the center. Harry was close to the man's side, his hand on his elbow, steadying him. The man's beard was long and overgrown, filthy despite looking like he'd just gone through a wash. His hair was a long mess of tangles but, Regulus recognized those eyes. They were the same eyes that stared at him in the mirror. They had always been considered odd eyes, strange when their skin was brown and dusky.

"S-Sirius," Regulus whispered.

And Sirius finally looked up at him. He startled, looking quite thrown.

"R-Reg? Regulus?" he rasped. His voice crunched and churned, unpleasantly, long rusty from disuse. But, Regulus would recognize that voice anywhere.

Regulus ripped himself away from Andromeda and ran. Sirius limped forward and then they were crashing into each other, holding onto one another and sinking down to their knees. Regulus buried his face in Sirus' neck and wept, tears leaving streaks of clean skin through the dirt caked on his brother's body.

"Regulus. Regulus. Regulus," Sirius chanted as if reminding himself. Regulus pulled back, holding Sirius tight by the shoulders so he could memorize his face. "You're alive. You're okay."

"So are you. I fought for you, brother. I never gave up. _Ever_ ," Regulus said, firmly. He couldn't stop crying, hiccuping great ugly sobs. He had never been a pretty crier, nor a public one, but he couldn't seem to muster up the shame. "Please believe me."

"I believe you, brother. Please...Reg, stop crying. I'm home," Sirius whispered, raising a hand to wipe his little brother's tears away. "I'm home."

Regulus only cried harder.

Sirius was _home._

 _:::_

 **A/N:** Hahaha. So, here's the next chapter. Like a week early. So, this is the REAL transitional chapter. Like the actual one. Not the fake transitional chapter that was last chapter. Next two chapters are the end of this arc. But, they might be incredibly long so, I might break them into two parts. The next chapter is about to hit 10,000 words and I'm not even halfway done, so we'll see if I split that up between two days.

I hope y'all liked this!

ALSO, if you follow Diagnosis, I should have another chapter up tomorrow, Saturday-night latest. Until then!


	29. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twenty-Five

"So...you said that there's an underground entrance? Here?" Harry asked, leaning over Sirius' shoulder and pointing right outside of the lines. He inspected the layout for the basement level of Rowena's haven, making sure to memorize it all. Sirius looked up with sparkling grey eyes, nodding slowly.

"Yes. Y-you cut through here, go to the statue garden. T-tap on the statue of Helena and you slide into the base," Sirius said. He looked over at Regulus who waited by the window, ever watchful of the palace he'd claimed as his own. Sirius sighed, frustrated with his persistent stutter.

"It's fine, Sirius," Regulus said without looking away from the training. "You've only been out for three days."

"B-but, I-I c-can't fight like this. I can't even g-get out a sp-sp- _spell_ ," Sirius snarled, spitting out the word with a sort of venom that could only come out of never-ending frustration. Harry gave a small smile, shaking his head.

"You don't even have a wand, yet, Sirius. Don't worry about fighting. You're helping in the best way now," Harry insisted, ignoring the look of disbelief the Black Lord cast him.

"B-but, I can—"

"No, Sirius, you cannot. You can barely stand for long," Regulus said, finally tearing his eyes away from whatever had captured his attention. He drew himself up, arms crossed, and for a moment, Harry thought he resembled Percy in his most pompous, self-righteous though well-meaning state. "You still cannot eat the meals that we eat. It is too hearty for you. You haven't got a wand yet, and you have a stutter. You _cannot_ go on this mission."

"B-but, I'm the only one that k-knows the castle!" Sirius protested.

Regulus stormed over, sitting in the chair across from Harry and his godfather.

"That's why you're teaching Harry. And he'll teach the Dark Lord," Regulus said, firmly.

Sirius scoffed at the mention, shivering violently. "Voldemort? W-what does he care?"

"He cares, Sirius," Regulus said, firmly, never tearing his eyes away from his brother, even as Harry looked at him with soft, pleading eyes. "Trust me and the gods. The Dark Lord cares."

"I-it's all just a trick anyway. H-he locked me away in Azkaban. F-for seventeen years," Sirius snarled, his grey eyes festering with hatred and Harry swallowed at the sight of it, momentarily shaken.

"And now you're out. If he didn't want you out, you wouldn't be. Right?" Harry whispered softly and Sirius looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"I-I suppose," Sirius said. He leaned forward, a bright look in his eyes. "Y-you d-don't look anything like I thought you would. T-they call you t-the Fairest."

"Yes, I suppose they do," Harry said.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Regulus asked, suddenly curious. "It was never...clear."

"It means that if the Dark Lord ever wanted immortality and eternal beauty, he would cut out my heart and eat it raw," Harry said, as plainly as he could. He rolled his eyes at the horrified stares on the Black brothers' faces. "Please, he's not going to do it."

"H-how do you know?" Sirius squeaked.

"Because he made an Unbreakable Vow that he wouldn't, Sirius. And we have an...understanding," Harry allowed. He ignored the way Regulus' lips curled into a sneer of disgust.

"A-an understanding," Sirius muttered under his breath. "T-this is surreal, you know. I-I'm your godfather a-and I k-know nothing about you. W-what's your favorite f-food? Y-your favorite animal?"

"I know nothing about you either. We're even," Harry said with a grin. "I like treacle tart. And my dragon, Freia."

"D-dragon?" Sirius barked.

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Yes. A dragon. I didn't believe it either until I saw her."

"My sweet dragon. She's a Horntail," Harry said with a smile. "I'll introduce you when you're up to going outside."

Sirius shook his head in disbelief. He swallowed hard and then glanced at Regulus. Then he looked back at Harry, a sad look on his face.

"You're s-s-so much like James," he decided.

"What? I've never been told that," Harry said, his eyes wide with interest. "I've always been told that I resemble my mother more. Lily."

"Y-yes, i-in a lot of ways. B-but, you _t-trust_ too easily. T-That was James," Sirius said, and though he didn't say it like it was a terrible thing, Harry felt his cheeks flush with something that nearly felt like shame anyway. "Y-you should be wary."

"Wary," Harry repeated softly.

Sirius took his time speaking now, careful to keep his stutter in check. "Well...I've noticed...that Voldemort has access to you. It's not...safe."

"He can't hurt me. He would never hurt me," Harry said. Sirius looked surprised by how sure Harry was. Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs. "Sirius, a lot has changed."

"N-no one can change t-that much," Sirius said stubbornly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a matter for debate."

"I-I'm your godfather. I-I have to keep y-you safe!" Sirius shouted, his voice still hoarse and thus, losing much of the intended effect. Harry snarled.

"Keep me safe? From your cell in Azkaban?" Harry hissed. The flames in the fireplace began to grow, spitting sparks dangerously. Regulus looked between the two, alarmed. "You don't _get_ an opinion on him. I'm so, _so_ tired of people having _opinions_ about him. You don't know him at all."

"And y-you do? N-no one k-knows him, H-Harry," Sirius demanded.

"I. Do. This _isn't_ a matter for debate. You may be my godfather but, I don't even fucking _know_ you. I'm your King. This isn't a debate. This conversation is over," Harry snarled and he gasped when a burst of flames punctuated his small speech. Sirius' eyes widened as the flames from the fireplace leaped forward, wrapping themselves around Harry like a shield.

"Your Grace," Regulus said, alarmed.

Harry took a step back and took three shaky breaths, slowly breathing away the flames before the room was suddenly a few degrees colder. He shook his head.

"I'm...I'm…" Harry rasped. He gathered himself. "I'm sorry about the Fire. Not about what I said. You don't get to question Tom. _I_ question Tom."

"Tom?" Sirius asked in confusion.

Harry took a deep breath. "That's his name, Sirius. His _name._ You know he's got one, right?" Harry whispered. "It's not… 'the Dark Lord' or 'Voldemort'. He's a person. Have you all forgotten that?"

He didn't let them say another word, storming from the room. He was already cursing himself for his stupidity. Harry had seen the validity in Remus' argument in the end. It was best to keep Sirius in the dark until after his recovery but, Harry's patience was quickly fraying. He was tired of everyone's _opinions_ about who got to be in his bed, and who didn't. He was tired of being told who he could love and who he couldn't. Harry had been told what to do his whole life, and he didn't necessarily mind when it came to politics—some had a much better knack for it than him—but, not about that. He would _never_ compromise on Tom.

"You shouldn't have done that, your Grace."

Harry spun around, staring at Regulus. Regulus lifted his wand and cast privacy wards, allowing only the two of them to hear the burgeoning conversation.

"Done what? The Fire? I apologized, Regulus," Harry sighed, feeling a thousand years older than he was.

"No. Not that. The Dark Lord kept Sirius in prison for nearly two decades. And you're defending him? Why are you doing this to him, your Grace?" Regulus whispered. "He's suffered enough."

Harry took a deep breath. "I've suffered too, Regulus. I'm tired of my trauma being forgotten and disregarded because I'm beautiful. Because I don't _look_ like I've suffered. I've suffered, Regulus, and he makes me incredibly happy. Happier than a gods-damned throne could ever make me. And I know we don't know each other very well yet, but don't you think I deserve to be _happy_?" Harry whispered, his voice cracking and pleading with vulnerability. Regulus' eyes widened as he looked at him.

Regulus had never seen his King so raw and open.

"You...you do. But, with him?" Regulus whispered. "I don't want Sirius to hate you—"

Harry's eyes shuttered. All vulnerability was chased away by anger.

"Let him," Harry growled. Regulus reared back, surprised by the irritation in Harry's bright eyes. "You think I should be ashamed of him? I'm not. I'm not _ever_ going to be ashamed of him because his sins aren't mine. And don't feed me that _shit_ that I don't understand the scope of what he's done because I do. My parents are _dead_ because of him. My empire is _broken_ because of him. So, I understand."

"Then, how do you do it?" Regulus snarled back. "How do you know all of these things and still flaunt your relationship with him?"

Harry didn't back down. "Because I believe that he's worth fighting for. He's done terrible things. Evil things. The things he's done are past mistakes but, everyone's got a story. I know his. His story is a gods' damned tragedy."

"Everyone's got a tragedy, Harry," Regulus snapped.

Harry took a step closer, his eyes narrowed. "Yeah. He's _mine_."

 **MIRROR**

Sirius watched through the paddock fence, his eyes wide as Harry ran around, chasing after the albino lioness that leaped away from him, growling playfully. Harry threw back his head, letting out a laugh as the lioness—Hedwig, Sirius was told—tackled him, nuzzling her face and licking his cheek, as if intent on grooming him. Harry wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the sharpness of her claws. He groaned when she collapsed all her weight on top of him.

"Come now, Hedwig! You're too big for this!" Harry groaned against her mass but the white lioness ignored him, yowling in his face as if she were talking to him. Harry whined again through his laughter.

There was a screech and Sirius looked up at the same time as Hedwig and Harry. Sirius' mouth dropped open in awe as he saw the great beast for the first time since he'd arrived at Westeron.

Freia was enormous though quite sleek. The crown of her head adorned with large spikes that trailed down her spine and tapered off at his tail. She flew through the air as if she owned everything above her and below her. She landed in the great space next to Harry and Hedwig, causing the ground to tremble. Hedwig jumped off Harry immediately, jumping and yowling at Freia, like they understood the same language.

Harry slowly stood up, his grin broadening as he walked up to Freia, grabbing her by the snout and rubbing his cheek in the space between her smoking nostrils.

"Extraordinary, isn't it?"

Sirius turned towards Remus, a slow smile spreading across his face, as his oldest friend finally came to him.

"It is," Sirius said, stilted.

He had learned in the past five days since his arrival that the best way to avoid his stutter was to be careful with his words. He had to slow down, a far cry from how he used to run his mouth at everyone and everything. Another thing lost at the hands of Slytherins.

"How...did this happen, Remus?" Sirius asked, softly.

Remus looked at him, a dry look on his face. "Which part, Sirius?"

"You...have a kid. L-Lily and James...are dead. Voldemort...is sworn t-to their son. T-their son has a _dragon_. H-how did this all happen?" Sirius asked.

The two remaining Marauders watched as Harry whispered softly to Freia, smoothing his hands over her scales while Hedwig loped around, weaving in between them with excitement. Hedwig yowled once more before she settled into the tight space between Harry and Freia, right underneath Freia's large head.

"Time," Remus said, finally. "Time passed. Harry grew up and he became this...extraordinary human being."

Sirius nodded slowly. He didn't even know Harry, not really, but he could see how amazing he was. Harry was fair and powerful and beautiful and gracious. Sirius had seen him training with the troops, commanding them with an ease that even McGonagall didn't possess. He fought with a brutality Sirius didn't think he'd possess. Seeing him go up against the Weasley boy, McGonagall's protege, had been a revelation. Ron had looked shocked when Harry had introduced him to the dirt. Harry was the perfect King.

"H-he is e-extraordinary. I wish I k-knew him," Sirius stammered.

Remus looked down, overwhelmed with guilt. "I wish I did too. I've only just started speaking with him. Recently. It hurt too much. Before."

"Remus...I understand that you need time, b-but...h-he's the last of them. Y-you were supposed to…" Sirius trailed off. He didn't know what Remus was supposed to do, but ignoring Harry wasn't it in the slightest. "W-what's he like? W-who does he speak to?"

"He's kind but, has a fierce temper. Like Lily. He likes to laugh and he loves his companions: Freia and Hedwig. He has Tonks. They spend hours locked away together, whispering and gossiping. They got on from the moment they met," Remus said. He sighed, leaning forward. "He's friends with most of the Weasleys. He spends a lot of his time with... _him_."

Sirius' eyes narrowed as Voldemort strode forward, leaving behind Andromeda. He leaped over the fence and went directly towards Harry. Sirius swallowed hard as Voldemort went directly up to Harry, and bumped his chin up so that he could grab his attention. Voldemort made an aborted move, instead running his fingers through Harry's hair and whispering softly. Harry let out a long laugh, shoving at Voldemort's side before he quickly grabbed the Dark Lord's hand and pressed it against Freia's neck.

Freia huffed noisily but made no move to murder Voldemort like Sirius _really_ wanted her to.

"They're close," Sirius said. He didn't need confirmation.

"They are."

The two Marauders looked up as Andromeda drifted over to them, her face as still as ever. Sirius didn't think he'd ever seen her smile before, though he'd rarely seen her when they were all at Hogwarts Castle.

Harry was talking excitedly about something, his hands moving wildly. Voldemort seemed to be listening intently, his lips twitching every few moments as if he were stopping himself from smiling.

"Tom," Harry whined. "It's _funny_."

"Tom?" Sirius asked again. It was the second time Harry had called Voldemort by that name, but the first time that Sirius had heard him addressed like that. "He really calls him that? And Voldemort lets him?"

"My brother lets Harry get away with a lot of things," Andromeda said, dryly.

As if on cue, Harry shoved at Voldemort's side, a warning look in his eye. Voldemort smirked back, shoving Harry. It was like a game between children. Harry suddenly tackled the Dark Lord, knocking him flat on his back. Voldemort snarled something and tugged Harry down until he was lying next to him and they just laid there, staring at the sky, as if there wasn't a care in the world.

"How did this happen?" Sirius asked again.

Andromeda hummed. "They are very similar, Sirius Black. I know you don't think so, but they are. Cruel and terrible my brother may be, but he holds great affection for Harry Wildfyre. And they are similar. They are both beautiful. They are both strong. They are both terrible. They are both great. They are both terrifying. They are _both_ survivors."

Remus couldn't help but nod.

"Tomorrow is the day," Remus whispered. "Should we get them?"

"No," Andromeda decided. Sirius and Remus turned to her and then looked back at where Harry and Voldemort were lying. They were in Freia's shadow, heads turned towards one another, whispering quietly. "Let them have this. Today is another day for them. Tomorrow is war. War is hell."

Tomorrow, then.

 **MIRROR**

She was air.

She was nothingness.

Hogwarts Castle seemed far emptier than she remembered. It had been centuries since she had last stepped foot in the castle but, still, it seemed lost and broken with no on the throne. There should always be someone on the throne. She turned away from the Great Hall and moved up the stairs, moving past the stray servants without a single hesitation.

None stopped. None saw.

She was air.

She tugged the white cloak tighter around her body, keeping her hood in place as she stood on the landing and the moving staircase jerked in his path. Slowly, it curled in the direction that she wanted. With only a flex of her muscle, the magic that seemed embedded in the stone shuddered, bowing to her might. She rolled back her shoulders and closed her eyes, tasting it on her her tongue.

Such _old,_ ancient magic.

"Yes…" she breathed, panting through the magic as it coursed through her.

The back of her tongue tasted like blood but, the magic tasted like life. She had been devoid of life for so long. Slowly, her eyes rolled back into place.

She could feel the mirror, deep in the depths of the castle. Her mirror. She could taste her children in the air—Chaos-Bringer, Kingmaker, her moon, and...her Stranger had been there, long before. Not any longer. Her Stranger was long gone. Good, her Stranger, her Shadow, had no place there. Not yet. Not yet.

 _She_ had no place there either.

She continued up the steps, straight-backed and constantly moving, dragging her pale sun-bleached hands along the banisters, soaking it all in. If a servant crossed in front of her, they moved, cringing away from her though they did not see her. They only felt her, cool like ice, hot like fury, and they trembled from the force of her power. She used to be terrified by the power she held. Now, it was nothing to her.

Now, she was nothing but power sewn to bones.

Power had bleached her clean.

She did not pause when she reached the crumbling staircase that led up to the North Tower. She was not afraid of falling. She had never been afraid of falling. When she reached the trapdoor, she only reached out and imagined the door open and the ladder unrolling and there it was. Slowly, she climbed, she ascended, she never reached the top.

And then, she stood before the three women.

More children. Her children.

" _Get_ out!" Cassandra Vlabatsky roared, staring at her with blind eyes, blind from the same power that she had once cringed from.

"'Get out, get out'," Celestina Warbeck mimicked in that singing, lilting voice of hers. She cowered against the corner, her hands over her face and then, she dropped them her face going slack as she stared at the woman standing before her. "Baba Yaga?"

Cassandra flinched and jerked, calling her eyes back. Cassandra stared up at her, eyes full of terror and she smiled, delighted.

"M-Marzanna? Marzanna," Cassandra said, pulling her ragged strings of hair from her face to peer up at her as if she couldn't understand what she was seeing. And then, Cassandra fell to her knees, crawling forward to kiss her bare feet, as white as her cloak. "Marzanna, Marzanna, Marzanna…"

"Get up," she said. "There is work to be done."

"We cannot leave. There are enchantments—" Cassandra began.

The woman did not laugh. She was devoid of laughter. There was only power bleached clean.

"There is work to be done," she repeated. "The Wyrdfod is here. The Stranger approaches. There is work to be done."

And Sybill Trelawney crept from behind the ragged curtains, staring at her with big, wide eyes. She smiled. Sybill was one of her children that had never seen her.

"Hello," she greeted.

Sybill lifted a trembling finger. "You...I know who you are."

"You do?" she asked, softly, taking a step forward.

Sybill stopped breathing. " _Pandora._ "

 **ON**

She stood before the large chateau, ignoring the rain that drenched her clothing, making the cotton mold itself to her body. She didn't shiver. She wasn't affected by the cold. Her long silver hair fell in wet ropes, sticking to the back of her neck. The coins in the pouch around her neck jangled with every step.

Fleur Delacour did not care about the rain. Not when she was about to make the world spill with blood. She took another trembling step forward, a sword bumping against her side with every movement.

It was a beautifully crafted sword. The silver glinted malevolently though there was no light. It was crafted to Fleur's exact specifications, though the smith had taken some liberties. The hilt was beautifully crafted, the pommel crafted in a roaring bird—similar to the birds that Veela became. It was a long blade and terribly sharp. Its scabbard was plain, rather suspiciously so but, Fleur didn't care.

She took a step forward, her eyes trained on the house. Then, another step. Slowly, she stomped her way through the mud, her eyes trained on the door. She had never felt so unafraid. Fleur had been afraid nearly her entire life. Her mother had always told her to be afraid. Her father had always told her to be afraid. Her grandmother and her entire line before her.

Be afraid, they said in life.

 _Be afraid_ , they said in death.

Her visions told her to fear for the future.

Fleur used to be afraid all of the time. Now, she only felt terribly cold and determined.

Her sister was inside. Her sister, the girl she had raised, was inside and engaged in a war that she could not fight alone. Fleur had left her little sister alone for too long. Her little sister who was hardened by scars. Her little sister who needed a sword.

The door opened before she even needed to knock.

Fleur stared.

Gabrielle stared back. Gabrielle didn't look like Fleur. Fleur looked beautiful as all other Veelas, though a little water-logged. Gabrielle was pale as the moon, with ash-blonde hair and chalky skin and pale, pale eyes. Her jaw was sharp and pointed as if she were on the precipice of transforming at every moment. And still, Fleur didn't think she'd ever been more beautiful.

"Fleur, you shouldn't be here," Gabrielle said.

Fleur slowly pulled the sword from its sheath. Gabrielle's eyes widened as she looked at the beautiful weapon, glittering dangerously.

"Neither should you," Fleur said softly.

Gabrielle opened the door wider. Fleur gasped.

Lining the steps were men and women. There was at least three dozen on the first flight and there were more, going up either set of stairs that went from the first landing. They all stared at the two with amber eyes, glowing menacingly. Each was dressed in rags, practically slathering as they stared at the two Veela women. Standing at the very bottom was Fenrir and the woman that Fleur had seen beating her sister half to death in her visions.

Gabrielle slowly stepped in front of her sister, her eyes trained on her husband.

"No, Fleur. You _really_ shouldn't be here."

 **THE**

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, swallowing hard as Tonks adjusted his robes. The dragon scale and chainmail glowed the red but, if he shifted just so, they became black. Tonks stood up behind him and gently weaved his coronet into his hair. She lifted her wand, sticking it to his head with magic, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him.

"You look beautiful," Tonks whispered, in awe.

He glanced at her reflection. She looked nothing like herself and everything like herself at the same time. Her hair was still short but, the pink was gone, leaving the soft brown that she only let him see when she couldn't help it. Her black robes were fitted to every dip in her body, every curve. Her two swords—one of glinting silver and the other red—were hidden beneath her crimson cloak.

Tonks had never been in awe of him but as she looked at him now, she looked stricken.

"I'm not supposed to look beautiful," Harry warned her.

Tonks' eyes narrowed. "Beauty is terror. You are _terrifying_ ," she insisted. She took a step back, turning him towards her. He looked up at her, confused, and Tonks' eyes softened. "There is so much I want to tell you."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

Tonks gave a tired laugh. "There's not enough time in the world, Harry Wildfyre. Just...I know you love him. You're extraordinary. Don't let what he wants change you. He's very handsome, Harry, I know. But, he is _not_ the sun. You are."

Tonks pulled away from him, leaving Harry staring dumbstruck.

"Tonks…" Harry breathed, taking a step towards.

"Harry. There are things in this world that you will learn. Things that you will learn about me. And you may hate me, eventually, but know that everything I ever do is in your name," Tonks said and then she held out her hand. "It's time to go."

Harry grabbed her hand before he even thought about it. Slowly, Tonks led him out of the room. Harry swallowed as he stared at the men and women lining the walls of the hall, all the way towards the stairs. As far as Harry could see, they waited, stone-faced, all standing with pikes in their hands. Harry looked at Tonks and carefully she pulled her hands away from him.

"Your Grace," she said, her voice stiff.

Slowly, Harry turned to face forward and then it began. Solemnly, they all thumped their pikes in time, a thunderous roar of respect that echoed in Harry's mind. Harry thought that he'd remember that moment for all his life.

He walked forward, stone-faced, never picking up pace as he thundered down the hall. As he made his way down the stairs, the stone-faced lines continued, never pausing in their salute to him. Harry walked down the steps, Tonks respectfully a few steps behind him. Harry swept down the stairs, and through the Entrance Hall where most of his Council waited by the doors, draped in battle robes emblazoned with the Phoenix.

"Your Grace," McGonagall said, falling into a low curtsey.

Kingsley, Ginevra, and Bill followed her example. Harry nodded and continued forward as they fell in line behind him. The doors swung open and Harry raised his eyes as he met with a wall of roars. Harry lifted his chin as he looked at them all, draped in iron and steel, ready to battle to the death in his name. Harry looked at the Death Eaters that led the pack, draped in black and bone-white masks. Harry took a step forward and opened his mouth, intending to speak.

The words wouldn't emerge.

Slowly, frantically, he looked towards Ron who waited amongst his brothers. Ron nodded at him in understanding.

"GET READY!" Ron roared from the side. "WE LEAVE IN TWO HOURS!"

The crowd dispersed, running to do as they were told. Harry felt his breath return as all of their eyes turned off him and they went to ready themselves, probably to mount their horses and to get into formation. The Portkeys all waited in a line, thousands of them, by the cliffside where they were leaving from.

"Y-your parents would be so proud of you."

Harry looked up, startled by Sirius' sudden appearance. He was standing next to Remus, a small smile on their faces as they looked at Harry.

"Thank you," Harry murmured. He frowned when two Death Eaters approached. They dragged their wands across their faces, revealing their faces.

Lucius and Snape.

"My Lord is waiting for you. He needs to speak with you," Lucius said, firmly.

Harry frowned. "He hasn't _left_ yet?" he demanded.

"You know he won't until he speaks with you," Snape said, his lips curling in disgust. Slowly, he turned to look at Remus and Sirius. "Black."

"Snivellus," Sirius hissed. "I shouldn't be surprised that you're one of the Death Eaters here. You so easily switch sides. It's like you have no sense of loyalty."

Harry groaned. A pissing contest. Great.

"I'd be very careful about the words I'd choose if I were you. After all, I'm the one with the wand and you're...rather unnecessary, aren't you?" Snape said, turning up his rather large nose. Remus ground his teeth as he looked at the two but held his tongue.

"I'm the one that knew how to get into Rowena's haven, arsehole. You're just another body," Sirius spat.

Snape sneered. "Are we sure you know what you're talking about? Azkaban might have addled your brain. How was your extended vacation?"

"I should—" Sirius barked, lunging forward. Suddenly, the two men were yanked apart by an invisible force. Harry took a step back as the Dark Lord appeared, draped in battle robes.

"Enough," Tom hissed. "Severus, leave. Black, watch yourself."

"F-fuck you!" Sirius barked.

Tom's eyes narrowed but Harry reached forward, lacing his fingers with Tom's. Tom looked down at him, surprised. Harry ignored the strange look on Sirius' face.

"You wanted to speak with me?" Harry whispered. "I have...I have to speak with you. It's important."

Tom nodded. "What I have to say is important, _Melui-âr,_ " he said, gently.

Harry took a step back, drawing Tom with him when Barty appeared at Tom's side and McGonagall at Harry's.

"My Lord...there's a problem with the Portkeys. We aren't sure if it's correct," Barty said, apologetically. Harry sighed, shaking his head and he looked over at McGonagall.

"What is it, Madame?" Harry murmured.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "There's a discussion to be had."

Harry nodded and he glanced over at Tom, squeezing his hand tight. Tom squeezed back.

"Don't leave...not until we talk. Okay?" Harry murmured.

"You know I won't," Tom said, softly.

Harry swallowed and tore his hand away. He looked over at Madame McGonagall and nodded.

"Let's talk," he said. They melted away further, ignoring the curious stares. In the midst of all the chaos, it almost felt like they had some sort of privacy though Harry knew there was nothing of the sort in war. "What is it?"

"Your Fire, Harry," McGonagall began. "You shouldn't use it unless you absolutely _know_ you can control it. You've been having trouble, haven't you?"

Harry's eyes widened. He thought about all the times that his rage had gotten the better of him recently. The times when his frustration would feed the flames and they would nearly spin out of control. Against Remus, Regulus, and Sirius.

"How...how do you know that?" Harry murmured.

McGonagall's lips twitched into a small smile.

"Harry Wildfyre. The Boy Who Lived," McGonagall said, softly. She took a step forward, and her eyes were softer than Harry had ever seen them. He smiled at her, weakly. "The Fairest. The Wyrdfod. So many titles for one so young."

"Half of them undeserved," Harry joked nervously and McGonagall shook her head.

"None of them are undeserved, Harry. You are extraordinary," McGonagall insisted and when Harry opened his mouth to protest, McGonagall pressed her hand to his cheek. " _I_ know who you are, Harry. I was there for your birth. You are not just the Fire in your skin. You are not just a king. You are important. Necessary."

"I-I…" Harry stammered, thrown by how sudden McGonagall was speaking.

"You are not destruction. Think about this Harry: what is the largest source of flames?" she whispered. And then she cupped his cheeks and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, pulling back to stare into his eyes. "You look so much like your mother."

And then she pulled away, going to mount her horse. Harry trembled.

He was ready.

 **WALL**

Hermione felt numb as the ladies dressed her. Madame Malkin supervised as the servants laced her up, using their fingers. The dressmaker had claimed that the robes were too fragile for magic. She was worried about everything fraying. Hermione closed her eyes as Luna stepped in front of her, taking her by her hands.

"Are you sure you don't want one of my girls doing your hair, my Lady...I mean, your Highness?" Madame Malkin asked, a jovial tilt to her voice. Hermione felt tears well in her eyes at her new title.

"No...Luna always does it," Hermione whispered.

Carefully, she opened her eyes and lifted her skirts. She padded across the room, barefoot, her skirts trailing after her. Luna sat her in front of a massive vanity and stood behind her, pulling her wet hair out of the long braid that it had been in. Being braided wet always kept most of Hermione's natural frizz at bay. She waited for Luna to apply Sleakeazy to her hair but instead, Luna pulled it back and began to apply a Warming Charm, blasting hot air over it. Hermione's eyes widened as she saw her naturally frizzy hair bush out around her face.

"What are you doing?" Madame Malkin squawked.

Luna's eyes narrowed. "Today, my Lady, will look like herself. Not what you want her to," Luna snarled. Her eyes softened when she looked at Hermione. "Simple cosmetics, Hermione. And a braid."

As she spoke, she began to braid Hermione's hair. It was a five-strand braid, leaving soft curly tendrils to frame Hermione's face. Hermione swallowed. She looked like herself. She looked like Hermione Granger of the Republic. She wondered what Fleur would think if she could see her now.

"Luna, I don't want this," Hermione whispered, just low enough for the two of them to hear.

Luna paused in her braiding. "Hermione, everything will be okay."

"How do you know? I feel so alone," Hermione admitted.

Barty was missing. Blaise had never been on her side. Luna could be taken from her at any moment. Lady Andromeda hadn't bothered to come, and Lord Voldemort didn't seem to give a damn about anything. She hadn't seen Daphne since arriving at Rowena's haven except in passing. It terrified Hermione. Everything terrified her.

Luna shook her head. "No. You are _never_ alone. You will never be alone. I am always here for you," Luna insisted firmly.

Even as she said it, Hermione's heart broke in half and for the first time since she had arrived in Albion, tears spilled from her eyes and she let out a terrible sob. Everyone in the room stopped, and suddenly, Hermione couldn't stop crying. Her shoulders trembled with the force of her gut-wrenching sobs that came out more like shrieks. She fought to breathe through her tears but, she found her breath strangled in her throat. Luna hugged her from behind, burying her face in Hermione's neck.

"Don't cry. Don't. I'm here. Wyrdfod is coming," Luna whispered against the skin of her neck.

Hermione cried harder.

"It's over...it's over…" Hermione cried, snot dribbling from her red nose. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

"It's never over. You will survive this, Hermione Granger. You are _strong_ ," Luna insisted.

"Today...I will be Hermione Slytherin," Hermione spat in rage and she screamed a terrible scream that shredded at her throat. The glass in the room trembled with the power of her raging magic. Her wand vibrated against her side.

Luna's eyes hardened. " _Never._ "

"How can you know?" Hermione whispered.

"Because. The Wyrdfod _is_ coming, Hermione. And you will be saved. And you will save yourself. Now, get _up_. Do not cry," Luna growled.

And Hermione wiped away her tears, slowly looking up. Luna nodded and continued to braid her hair.

Madame Malkin and her assistants didn't seem to know what to make of everything. Madame Malkin stepped forward to inquire about Hermione's health when there was a knock on the door. Narcissa didn't wait to be invited in, only stepping inside.

Once more, Hermione was reminded of how beautiful her future mother-in-law was.

Narcissa Slytherin was powerful in her navy robes. Her face was painted beautiful and her hair was braided in long ropes that were intertwined. Warrior's braids. She held a box in her hands.

"My Lady," Luna greeted and the other ladies echoed her, dipping into short curtseys. Hermione barely looked up.

"Lady Narcissa," she whispered.

Narcissa took a step forward, her eyes glinting maliciously. "You look...pretty, Hermione. A sweet little foreign girl from the Republic," Narcissa murmured. Hermione whispered her thanks. "I have a gift. From your husband."

Narcissa removed the top and Hermione was stricken.

She hadn't seen them in such a long time. Fleur had put them on her feet the day that Hermione had gone to the ball. When Hermione had run away, she had tripped in them, shattering one against her foot. The shards had cut deep, leaving scars on her feet. The other one had stayed on but blood had pooled in the bottom from the sores that they had left on her feet.

Draco had kept them.

Her glass slippers, covered in her blood.

 **WHO**

Bellatrix knew the tomb when she finally reached it after days of walking.

Her silver robes, gifted to her by the Sea Warlock, were in rags. Her feet ached and bled. But, she knew. She could feel the magic thrumming in her blood.

It wasn't a tomb.

Bellatrix hadn't really expected it to be. The deathless was hidden separate from the body. The death was inside a needle, which was in an egg, which was in a duck, which was in a hare, which was in a chest of gold, buried beneath the green oak tree.

Bellatrix stared at the only oak tree in miles. She pressed her hand to the bark and felt Pandora, though she was not there. Pandora seemed to consume so many of her thoughts, lately. As much as Tom did. Bellatrix had never been close to Pandora like Tom was. But, Bellatrix had never been jealous of Pandora. Pandora's interest in them had always been a strange, clinical type of interest. As if she couldn't quite feel the same affection that they had for her. She wasn't capable.

Eternity did that.

The tree felt so alive under her touch. There was no wind but, Bellatrix could feel the oak tree swell and then exhale as if it were breathing. Bellatrix pulled her driftwood wand, suddenly missing her own wand down to her core.

" _Bombarda_ ," she cast at the base of the tree.

The ground cracked and exploded around her, showering her in dirt and debris but, Bellatrix brushed it away, not even bothering to clean herself. Immediately, she fell to the ground, tossing her wand aside and began to dig through the loose dirt. She clawed forth and barely winced when her nails cracked against loose rocks. When she pulled back to inspect her hands, her nails were broken and caked with dirt and blood.

"Enough. So close. We are so close," Bellatrix hissed and she knew she could feel it beneath her. Her hand struck something hard and she brushed her hands over the surface, clearing it of dirt. Bellatrix's eyes lit up as she spotted gold. She had to lean nearly all of her body into the hole to grab a firm hold of the golden box but she did, pulling it free and setting aside her. The entire world seemed to go still and quiet. None of the natural sounds of nature could be heard as if they cowered before what was inside the box.

Bellatrix sifted through the dirt to find her driftwood wand and she rapped it against the top of the golden chest. Bellatrix stowed her wand away in her side and pulled her knife free from her small burlap sack. She had no more Galleons or any coin at all but, she still had her knife. Slowly, she opened the golden chest.

The hare jumped free, attempting to scurry away but, Bellatrix had no patience. She snatched it by its ears and slit its belly from skull down. The hare split open and a blood-slicked duck came forth, quacking loudly. It tried to waddle away and this time, Bellatrix had to throw herself forward to catch it. It nearly escaped from her hands, it was so wet with blood and entrails but Bellatrix simply slammed her wet knife into its back and squeezed until an egg slid out with a wet plop.

Bellatrix grabbed the egg in her hands and crushed it between her palms, the shell digging marks into her filthy, cut palms. The yolk fell into the dirt and grass and Bellatrix dragged her fingers through the yellow mess, searching and searching until she let out a quiet hiss.

Her finger twinged with the pain from the needle's brick but carefully she brought the silver needle, dripping with yolk to eye level. She inspected it, curiously.

This was it. Inside the needle was a death. She wondered if there was a spell. Or any particular words she needed whisper. She wondered if the needle itself was the wand until she thought on something Pandora had said once to her.

 _The simplest answer is usually the answer._

Bellatrix took the needle in two hands and cracked it in half.

There was a long moment of silence and the oak lurched and let out a cracking sound, the leaves falling around her, sticking to her hair and falling in her lap. Bellatrix looked up and watched as the oak tree died around her, turning withered and black. Bellatrix dropped the broken needle and held out her hands in offering.

The wand was longer than her old wand. It also felt ancient. As ancient as Pandora felt whenever Bellatrix had been around her. The wand was unique in that every few inches, it was covered in carvings that resembled a cluster of elderberries. Bellatrix wrapped her fingers around the wand and gasped when felt the magic rush over her.

She felt her skin knit together, blood washed away by magic. The dirt that had been caked on her skin evaporated and her skin felt young and tight again. Bellatrix gasped as the magic embraced her somewhat but, she knew not fully. Not until she was truly Deathless. Bellatrix shuddered, brushing the wand against her cheek.

She thought about what Tom would say if he saw her, holding the Deathless' wand.

Her Tom. The Tom she knew when they had been young. The Tom that had slaughtered men and women and children without thinking. She didn't think he'd ever been more beautiful than when he was covered in blood, his face smeared with it.

Bellatrix would find her Tom. She would kill this Tom and make him ugly like her. Twist him inside. She would.

"You will be naked…" she promised. "And bloodied...and clean...and mine."

And she thrust the Elder Wand into the air, releasing her rage.

Her rage looked like lightning.

 **IS**

"Your Grace, you called for me."

Draco slowly turned, clad in white and green robes, looking to the young woman that waited in the doorway. His breath was taken away once again as he looked at her nubile body. She was wearing his colors. The Slytherin colors, but softer. Her dove grey dress was really a few pieces of cloth tied together, exposing her flat belly, the soft flesh at her sides, crossing over her plump breasts and tying around her neck. Draco felt his cock twitch.

"I did," Draco murmured as he stalked forward.

Daphne Greengrass' lips curled into a slow smile. He was so close, they could practically breathe the same air.

"On your wedding day, your Grace?" Daphne whispered. "How tawdry."

"If I could have you by my side, I would," Draco said, firmly. He lifted his hand, dragging his fingertips down her cheek. Daphne leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. "You see it, don't you?"

"See what, Draco?" Daphne murmured.

Draco groaned at the sound of his name. "You belong to me."

Daphne whimpered as Draco slipped his hand behind her back, pulling her tight against his body. She lifted trembling hands up to his face, cupping his jaw and swallowing. She bit her lower lip and looked away.

"But...you aren't mine," she whispered.

Draco's eyes narrowed. Fiercely, he said, "I'm always yours, Daphne."

He pressed his lips all along her face, fluttering kisses to her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her eyelids, and then her mouth. He pecked her mouth in succession, once, twice, thrice, and then pulled back. Daphne's eyes were still closed but a soft smile stretched across her wide, pretty face. Slowly, she opened her eyes to look at him.

"You're not. You're getting married," Daphne whispered. "I want you to be _mine_."

Draco nodded. "I know. But, I have to. The people love her and we're on the brink of _war_ ," Draco whispered.

Daphne let tears well in her eyes as she looked up at him. She pressed a smirk onto her face as if to disguise her sadness but, she wasn't quite able to.

"I wish that you could be mine," Daphne murmured.

And Draco decided. He slowly pulled his green scarf away, throwing it to the side. Daphne's eyes widened and she scrambled at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his neck. Draco stripped her bare, revealing skin, dragging his fingers down her bare skin, worshipping wherever he touched. Daphne gasped at the feeling.

She cried out when he entered her, fucking her up against the wall. She slammed her hand back against the wall as if to brace herself while he fucked up inside of her, whispering his adoration into the crook of her neck, in the hollow beneath her ear. And even as she stared at the door, chanting _yes, yes, yes_.

He came inside her with the words, "I love you," on his lips.

They stared at one another for a long moment, with him still inside her. Daphne laced her fingers through his short blonde hair and she smiled.

"I love you too," she whispered. She pressed her mouth to his, licking into his mouth, tasting him, pressing her nails into the back of his neck.

For the first time, Draco noticed that she tasted like salt and seaweed. He pulled back and didn't smile. He staggered back, staring at her as she slid down the wall, catching her footing. He looked at her and saw everything he wanted and couldn't have, would never have.

"Stay with me. Stay at Hogwarts with me," Draco begged.

Daphne shook her head as she began to tie her dress back into place, running her fingers through her loose hair. "I can't. I won't be your mistress. I won't be pregnant with your bastard. I wouldn't do that to a child."

"I would claim him," Draco begged.

"And dishonor your wife? Humiliate my friend? Draco…" Daphne whispered. She smiled, softly. "Be happy that we had _this_."

Draco nodded, his eyes darting around the room as he lost himself in his swirling thoughts. Daphne glanced in the mirror, looking at herself. She licked the saltwater from her lips and rolled back her shoulders, tugging at her muscles and cracking her bones.

"Bed your wife tonight. I will find you in the morning before we leave," Daphne promised.

Draco nodded, lost.

Daphne turned on her heel and left the room, without a backward glance. As soon as she left the room, her smile dropped in favor of a look of stone. She stalked down the hall, blowing past servants, feeling Draco Slytherin's seed drip down the inside of her thighs. Daphne didn't stop even as she trotted down the steps, and stormed outside of the castle, past the servants still carrying flowers into the Throne Hall. She blew past the Lords and Ladies milling about, ready for the event to begin.

Only when she was outside, did she slow, and only to pull apart the flaps to her family's tent.

Daphne entered the tent, her lips pulled into a gentle smile. She kept her eyes trained on her ward-brother and their grandmother. Augusta stared at her, her eyes hard as Daphne walked into the empty tent, her hands clasped behind her back.

"Daphne," Augusta said in greeting.

Daphne Greengrass' lips curled back into a terribly wicked grimace. "It is done," she hissed.

Augusta grinned.

"What is dead may never die," she said, reciting the Longbottom motto.

Daphne nodded and held out her hand. Neville took it immediately, allowing his ward-sister to pull him to his feet. Immediately, they walked away from their grandmother, arm in arm, waving their wands as they sealed the boxes, whispering the family charms that would settle everything for them in its proper place.

"How do you know it took?" Neville asked, softly.

Daphne's grim expression brightened into something like wickedness. She thought back to her salt of kiss, and the way he watched her, so utterly, foolishly, in love. He ought to know; his mother should've told him.

Love was for children.

"Because I can feel him now. Every breath he takes...every move he wakes...every step he takes...I'll _know_. And I will feel his heart weakening...his magic cracking, and when he falls, as he should, I will know," Daphne rasped.

Neville's gaze hardened. "And Narcissa Slytherin will know what it is to lose _everything_."

 **FAIREST**

Gabrielle kept her back to Fleur. She only had eyes for Fenrir, and she cursed the Dtrwies for allowing Fleur to come. It was raining so hard that she should've drowned outside. The Dtrwies must have given her a vision on the wheel and she had come because she thought had to. But, Gabrielle was not the same girl that Fleur remembered. She was scarred, and scars were harder to break than skin.

"What...what is this?" Fleur whispered into her ear.

"Ah, my sister-in-law. Welcome," Fenrir growled, his lips curled back into a yellow grin. He looked at Gabrielle again, his eyes flashing. "What a...surprise."

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed. "I tried to kill him. This morning. In our bed. He summoned his pack," Gabrielle said, sharply. She looked at them all. Some looked more human than others. The others were slathering, thirsting for a taste of her blood.

"You betrayed me, Gabrielle. I asked _one_ thing of you—"

"You hunt creatures, Fenrir. You hunt _women_ ," Gabrielle hissed, her nostrils flared with fury. "You hunt them and skin them and mount them on your wall like animals. Was I next?"

"Not until now," Fenrir allowed. He took a step forward, slowly shrugging off that fine silk over-robe that Gabrielle had noticed the first time that she had seen him. With every layer he stripped off, the more she could see the animal in his eyes.

She hoped he could see the animal in her eyes too.

"You'll look pretty on my wall," Fenrir said, softly, taunting and yet, she could read his eyes. She could see that this was eat or be eaten, and he would consume her alive though it would hurt him anyway.

"I prefer pelts," Gabrielle spat.

Fleur grabbed onto her shoulder and Gabrielle tried to shrug her off but Fleur was insistent as her hand trailed down Gabrielle's arm to her wrist. She brought Gabrielle's hand back and slowly wrapped it around something. Gabrielle didn't have to look to recognize it as a sword. Slowly, Gabrielle pulled the sword forward.

"Gabrielle…" Fleur breathed. "Kill. Him."

Gabrielle stared at the blade as she lifted it in front of her. She knew it wasn't iron or steel and from the look on Deyanira and Fenrir's faces, they knew it too.

"Gabrielle…" Fenrir warned.

Gabrielle screamed for the first time since she had been scarred. It was a deafening sound that drowned out everything else, even the pounding of her own blood. She screamed for the girl that she used to be, for the woman that she was about to become, for the things she was about to do. She screamed for lost love and never-ending rage. She screamed for Fenrir, her poor dead love.

"Gabrielle, the gods wouldn't—" Fenrir began.

"Your gods are dead, my love. Who will save you now?" Gabrielle whispered, taking a step forward. One of the wolves growled, launching themselves forward before Deyanira or Fenrir could stop him.

Gabrielle spun on her heel, roaring as she brought her sword down across his chest. The wolf screamed, dying before he ever hit the ground. Gabrielle slammed him down onto his back and twisted, watching his skin hiss and spit around the silver blade. She pulled it free and wiped it against her trousers, smearing them with blood.

"Fenrir, my love, I challenge you," she said, softly. She looked from Deyanira to Fenrir, stepping over the wolf's broken corpse. "A girl, Gabrielle Delacour- _Greyback_ challenges the Alpha of Laug."

Fenrir froze. "To what?"

"To the death," Gabrielle whispered.

Fenrir stood up straight and he slowly pulled his wand from his pocket. Gabrielle pulled her own and they stared at one another for a long moment.

And Gabrielle had never cast the spell. She had never thought to, never had a reason to. She had never hated so much in her life, and she had never loved. But, when the words came off her tongue, there had never been an easier spell.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ "

Fenrir leaped out of the way and the Killing Curse connected with a stray wolf who fell dead as soon as the light touched him. Fenrir launched himself forward, whipping his wand. Gabrielle spun out of the way, dodging just as the purple jet sliced against her cheek. Gabrielle fully faced Fenrir just as he Conjured a sword and brought it down over her head. Gabrielle raised her sword, blocking the blow and she kicked out, catching him in the belly with all her strength.

Fenrir staggered back, eyes wide with surprise.

Gabrielle took a step back, steadying herself. Slowly, she lifted her chin.

The fight began. It was a battle between two predators, neither one willing to give up their claim to blood. A punch was evaded just as quickly as a spell. The room lit up with the ghostly cast of curses. A white-blue curse from Gabrielle, meant to maim. A purple jet of magic from Fenrir meant to obliterate. Steel clashed against silver, drawing sparks. Neither one landed a physical hit on the other. Not until Gabrielle whipped her wand sharply and Disarmed Fenrir with a well-placed _Expelliarmus_.

Fenrir's suddenly free hand snapped out, catching Gabrielle across the face.

Gabrielle didn't flinch from the hit though Fenrir looked surprised. He stared at his hand as if it had betrayed him but, Gabrielle thought no such thing. Instead, she stared at her husband with a terribly triumphant look, smiling a mouth of blood. In the dim lighting, she looked stark white, the bloody ruin of her mouth the only flash of color.

"I am Gabrielle Delacour-Greyback, wife of Fenrir Greyback, daughter of Apolline and Louis Delacour, and I say _not_ today," Gabrielle roared in his face and she swung her sword over her heard, screaming with a terror that she did know belonged to her.

Fenrir reached out, grabbing and he gasped when he remembered that it was silver. He jerked his hand to his chest and Gabrielle pushed the pain as she smelled his burning flesh. Instead, she whipped her wand over and over again, thinking of the spell that her mother had whispered once when they were children, the same spell that Fleur whispered when she made that silver thread.

" _Stříbrná mince,"_ Gabrielle snarled, and she watched as the silver thread shot from her wand, wrapping around Fenrir's neck like a leash.

"I loved you. More than anyone," Fenrir whispered, his voice cracking.

Gabrielle lifted her chin. "And yet, you betrayed me," she decided as she rapped the silver sword across the ground. The werewolves were all still, their eyes trained on the sword that meant death. "When Deyanira began training me, she told me there was no justice in the world. Not unless we make it. You told me that I must lose everything to gain something. I have lost."

"Gabrielle," Fenrir pleaded.

"Thank you for all your many lessons, Fenrir Greyback. I will never forget them," Gabrielle rasped. "Last words?"

"The Stranger, Death was right. I should not have loved you," Fenrir whispered. "I should have looked her in her eyes and said 'not today'."

Gabrielle did not pretend to know what that meant. Instead, she said, "Today has come."

She took a step forward, rapping the silver sword against the marble floors again. Her husband was on his knees before her, and she remembered, suddenly, the first time they had met. He had called her 'miss' and he had looked at her with the same intrigue that she had looked at him with. Gabrielle took a step forward and cupped his jaw with one hand. He looked up at her, pleading.

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his. She didn't close her eyes. Neither did he.

He lunged.

She brought her sword down.

He coughed blood onto her lips.

Gabrielle pulled back, licking her lips, tasting his blood on her tongue, remembering the way he tasted. Her silver sword burned his flesh and he roared as she ripped it out of his back and then stabbed down again. And again. She wrenched it out, staggering back and watched as the wounds on his back festered and his face turned wane. His lips curled into a ferocious snarl, and for the time, Gabrielle saw the wolf.

Fenrir lunged at her again, roaring through the pain, and Gabrielle swung her sword so hard, it sliced across his throat, through his vocal chords, nearly through his neck. Fenrir fell to his knees, clutching at the wound. Gabrielle stared at him, impassively.

"Ga—"

"I loved you. But, I promised...I would never forgive you," Gabrielle said and then she sheathed her sword, looking up at the wolves that all stared down at her, teeth bared and prepared to lunge. She stepped over her husband's broken body. "Who _dares?_ Who would _dare_ fight me? The Widow who slew the great Wolf of Laug!"

Spittle flew from her mouth, her words echoing in the Entrance Hall.

"You think you can _kill_ me? Me who has no name? You can't kill me!" she snarled. Gabrielle's nostrils flared and she looked directly at Deyanira Argentum.

Deyanira did not cower. Instead, she broke away from the pack. Gabrielle grabbed her sword, ready to slay them all.

And then, Deyanira sunk to her knees and offered her neck.

"A girl is Alpha," Deyanira whispered.

Just like that, the other wolves all sunk to their knees where they stood, bending back their heads to show their necks. Gabrielle took a step back, her eyes wide as they began to chant the title, first in whispers, then in shouts.

"Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. ALPHA!"

Deyanira stared. "Alpha, Fenrir Greyback called the Republic. They are almost here. I can hear them. Alpha must run. Run, Alpha, and find the Wyrdfod. Find the Wyrdfod."

Gabrielle shook her head.

"There are no gods. And there is no Wyrdfod," she snarled.

"You are wrong. The Wyrdfod is here, and the gods are even more so. You are marked," Deyanira whispered.

Gabrielle jumped when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist. She looked up at Fleur's face, expecting to see terror. Instead, Fleur looked at her with a hard expression, set grim in her pretty face. She tugged on her arm.

"We must go. There is the Wyrdfod. I have seen him. But, it doesn't matter. Right now, we must run. We have to _run,"_ Fleur whispered.

Gabrielle turned back to look at her _pack._

"Run, Alpha. We will come to you when you call but, for now, _run._ "

So, Gabrielle and Fleur ran.

 **OF**

"You look lovely, Narcissa."

Narcissa looked up, sharply from his mirror. Daphne Greengrass lurked in the doorway. Narcissa's lips curled into a smile as she observed the girl.

All of her masks were gone. There was no gentile smile or quiet grace. No charming smirks or girlish laughter. There was only a cold woman with sea storms for eyes and salt on her tongue. Daphne danced into the room and Narcissa ran her eyes over her, taking in the exposed skin and the way her hair fell down her back. It appeared wet, so shiny and slick with gels and pomades. Daphne didn't stand, only watching.

"'Lady Narcissa' will do...little fish," Narcissa murmured.

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "You remember."

"Of course, I remember. You've heeded my advice?" Narcissa asked.

"'Do not cry, little fish. Tears are blood, ill-spilled'," Daphne repeated. She tilted her head, observing Narcissa carefully. "I have not cried in a long, long time."

"Good. Only the weak cry," Narcissa decided.

"I made your son cry today. On his wedding day," Daphne said as if she were speaking on the weather. She began to pace, a finger pressed to her lips. Narcissa never looked away. "He cried for all the things he could never have, all the things he could never be. Do you cry about those things?"

"I do not cry. I have not cried in decades," Narcissa said, coldly.

Daphne paused, slowly turning to look at Narcissa. "The last time I cried, you murdered my family in front of me. I would make you cry, Narcissa Slytherin. I would make you do many things if I could."

"If you could," Narcissa allowed. "But, you can't."

"Not yet," Daphne retorted nearly immediately. She paused, reigning herself in as she looked over at her opponent. She began to pace again. "I have come to you with words of warning."

"Warning?" Narcissa said, her lips pulling into a chilly smile.

Daphne slowly approached Narcissa and then lowered her face until she was level with Narcissa. They were barely inches apart, never looking away from another. Narcissa stared into those sea eyes and saw the fury of the oceans and the type of hatred that took years to breed and foster. Narcissa felt pride.

 _She_ had put that there.

"If you... _ever_ hurt Hermione Granger…" Daphne trailed off, shaking her head, her lips tilted into a strange little smile. "No. Your fate will always remain the same."

Narcissa's eyes brightened. "How so?"

And Daphne's gaze sharpened and she took a step closer, looking deep into Narcissa's pinprick blue eyes. "I will drown you."

 **THEM**

It was time.

Harry looked around, searching for the man that he needed to find. He darted between centaurs and Veelas and banshees and witches and wizards and Muggles alike, searching for the Dark Lord. He sighed, nodding to everyone that murmured 'Wyrdfod' or 'your Grace' at him, though he paid them little mind.

"Your Grace! Your Portkey is leaving at—" Percy called.

"Not now, Percy!" Harry shouted, ducking around the man and then he was caught and spun, nearly tripping. Harry gasped as he looked up at the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord grabbed him by his wrists and dragged him close to the cliff, where there were few but for Harry's Council's horses and Hagrid, attempting to wrangle Freia and prepare her for transport. "Tom…"

"We have to talk. You wanted to talk and I have to leave. _Soon_. And you need to talk to your troops and make sure that Freia can get to Rowena's haven," Tom murmured, running his hands over Harry's jaw as if checking to make sure he was okay though they hadn't even yet engaged in battle. "I enchanted Freia's Portkey myself but, I'm not...well, I wouldn't admit this if it weren't important, but I'm not sure about the limits of the Charm. If we had more time—"

"No, no, that's not what I want to talk about," Harry murmured.

Tom frowned. "Then, what?"

Harry swallowed all of his fear and trepidation and looked at Tom with wide eyes, taking a deep breath. Tom frowned down at him, his red eyes narrowed in confusion and irritation.

"Okay, here it is," Harry whispered, pressing his hands to Tom's chest. "It's time to make your choice."

Tom snorted. "I made my choice long ago."

"No, no," Harry insisted as he reached up, cradling Tom's jaw. He drew him closer until they were breathing the same air, so entwined that if anyone happened upon them, they would hardly be able to tell where Harry ended and Tom began. "You could've gotten out of this Vow. You're a cunning snake, Tom Marvolo. Now...your choice. It's simple. Them or me."

Tom stopped breathing. "Harry."

"I know…I know that they're your _blood_ but, Tom, I _love_ you," Harry begged, his voice cracking. He looked up into Tom's warbright eyes and swallowed. "Don't leave me. _Please_ don't leave me. I want you to love me."

Tom took a deep breath and closed his eyes as if centering himself. He opened his eyes again and Harry felt his heart break.

"Self-sacrifice makes for a good ruler. I do not know this in practice but…" Tom drawled. He cleared his throat and he took a step back. He looked anywhere but into Harry's eyes. "This is happening. You have your armies. A dragon. Respect. A crown. Everything you've ever wanted. Are you afraid?"

Harry hesitated. "No," he whispered.

"You should be. You're in the great game now and the great game's terrifying," Tom warned.

Harry swallowed hard.

"Do you know what frightens me?"

"No."

"The fact that I love you and it means nothing to you," Harry whispered, harshly, and he took a step back. He wiped furiously at his eyes with the back of his hands and when he looked up again, and he was like steel. Fire and grace.

A king, through and through.

"What I feel for you will pale in comparison to what the world will. You will go today and they will all see you for what you are," Tom swore.

Harry turned away and went to mount his horse. Tom took a deep breath. The sun was high. It was time and he would need to gather concentration to complete such a long distance Apparation. He looked at Harry one more time.

Bold and brash and so completely lovely. Reckless and mouthy and terribly kind. The world would see him for what he was.

 _You don't deserve him._

Andromeda's words echoed in his ear. His lips curled into a terrible smile.

How right she was.

Tom took a step back and Disapparated on the spot. Barty followed after him, turning on the spot.

Harry pretended not to watch him leave. He did away with his sorrow, his rage. There would be a time for it later on. This was not the time. It was a time for war, now.

Harry held up his wand and shot red sparks into the air. Freia let out a fearsome screech, and the army's loud roars fell into a soft kind of quiet, still speaking but, not quite as loud.

"What shall we fight for?" Harry shouted. "You will listen to me. Listen!"

The troops fell into a dim silence that echoed for miles. Harry looked at all of them, his eyes wide as his horse paced back and forth and Freia hovered in the air behind him. Harry paused, looking at each and every one of them.

"Answer me! What do we fight for?" Harry called. None of them had an answer. "We fight for those that cannot fight! Seventeen years...for seventeen years, Albion has been brought to its knees! I say, no more! For thousands of years, our bloodlines lived upon this mighty Isle. And through the prosperity of Merlin, to the terror ages of the Tabooed, we survived. We _endured_! And we shall endure again! And again! We shall not bow to Death. No."

And Harry wasn't sure where he conjured the words from. He had never been good at speeches. He had never good at speaking. But, today was different. Today _felt_ different. Today, he would know what it was to love and lose. Today, he would meet Death on the battlefield and refuse to leave with her.

"WHAT DO WE SAY TO THE STRANGER, DEATH?" Harry roared, ignoring the stricken look on Tonks' face.

And his army roared back to him. " _NOT TODAY!"_

" _NOT EVER!"_ Harry roared back. "We do not forgive! And we do not die! I am the Wyrdfod! Today, the Usurpers, will learn what it means to be Fateborn. Their time is done. No more being beaten into submission! No more starving! No more sorrow! That is for yesterday! Today, we bring _fire_ and _fury._ If they wish to see us burn, they shall burn with us! Yesterday, we hid in fear! Today, we wage _war_!"

 **ALL?**

Hermione had never looked more beautiful.

And she had never wanted to die more.

The Throne Hall in Rowen's haven was bright as Hogwarts' Great Hall. The windows were tall, from ceiling to floor and flowers and silver candelabras floated through the air. The runner was pure white unlike the blood-stained one of Hogwarts, and there was no Gilded Throne. Still, Hermione would be crowned Queen today. Today, she would become a Slytherin.

The train of her robes dragged behind her like a weight. Silver chains were weaved through her braids and the green scarf wrapped around her neck felt like a noose.

All of their eyes were on her as she walked to her gallows. All of their terribly happy eyes and cruel, humorless smiles. Pansy Parkinson sneered at her as she walked past. That made Hermione fell better. At least one person watched her with the contempt that they all held for her. Hermione looked for Daphne but, she was lost in the sea of the Lords and Ladies from Essetir that Hermione didn't know. Hermione looked to the front and saw them all.

Hermione stared at the cruel King. She looked around, helplessly, meeting bright grins and apathetic eyes. Barty stood behind his father, his face torn in terror and anticipation. Luna stared, utterly calm. Hermione's stomach turned and she swallowed her bile. Narcissa stood between Lord Dolohov and her brother, her carved diamond and her eyes such a stormy blue that it looked like flinty stone.

Hermione turned towards the eldest.

Crimson eyes pierced her soul and he looked calm despite the fact that he had sworn to her that he would save her. No one could save her. Hermione was dead. There was nothing left to be saved.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of Merlin, the gods, and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever," the wizarding officiant rasped and he pulled forth the leather cords that would bind them as Draco untied the sash around his neck that he would wrap around her throat like a noose.

Hermione swallowed as she went to kneel with Draco.

And then there were gasps.

Hermione and Draco spun around.

The interloper walked into the main aisle, cutting through the group of people. He was alone, though his head was held high.

"What?" Draco breathed and Hermione looked back at Narcissa. Narcissa's eyes widened in horror and confusion.

Hermione glanced at the Dark Lord but his lips curled into a tiny smirk. Hermione's mouth fell open and she nearly forgot how to breathe at the sight of the _beautiful_ green-eyed young man. His lips, red as blood, were curled into a smile, and ebony hair was wild around his head. The coronet on his head jutted out around the back of his like wooden branches painted silver. His battle robes were the color of old blood, chainmail and dragon scales.

In all of Hermione's life, she had never seen someone as fearsome as the man that stood in the aisle. There was something about the way he held himself. Despite his obvious and unbelievable beauty, there was a brutality in his eyes, in the way he held himself. If there were ever such a thing as a god of war, this would be him; heartbreaking and terrifying and _beautiful_.

"Who?" Narcissa whispered.

"I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, the Wyrdfod, and the Fairest of Them All," the Fairest said, walking forward. "And I think my invitation got lost in the mail."

Hermione shivered. _Wyrdfod._

"The Pretender," Draco murmured. "You come to die."

The Fairest pulled his sword and took another step forward, raising his wand.

"I come to fight," the Fairest snarled. "Draco Malfoy of House Slytherin...Usurper of the Gilded Throne, I declare _war!_ "

And the world exploded into chaos.

:::

 **A/N:** Well, y'all. Here was are on the precipice of the grand finale of ARC TWO. I told you I wanted this finished by Thanksgiving. I wasn't joking. Look out for the next chapter on Wednesday night/Thursday morning, and then, Thursday afternoon for the interlude. I think there are two interludes for this one, though. The second interlude acts more like a prologue for ARC THREE rather than wrapping up ARC TWO like the first interlude does. I'll let you know when I start posting the next arc after I figure out the next chapter.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twenty-Six

When Narcissa saw him, her breath was taken away.

He looked nothing like Lily Gryffindor and James Potter, and everything like them too. His emerald eyes belonged to Lily, but that hair belonged to James. He was more beautiful than both his parents combined. More beautiful than Tom or Bellatrix.

He was stunning in his ferocity and his looks. Probably the most beautiful person she'd ever seen. There was surety in the way he moved, in the way his chest moved with every breath. Narcissa let out a strangled little cry.

 _Then, comes another. Younger. More beautiful to cast you down and to take all you hold dear._

And here, he had come.

It wasn't Hermione Granger or Daphne Greengrass that should have concerned Narcissa. Not the wraith-like thinness and sharp wit. Not thin waists and exposed, young teats. Not pretty smiles and pretty eyes. She should have been concerned with fire and grace and divine brutality wrapped in snow, blood, and raven's feathers.

It was the Fairest.

The world seemed to slow and Narcissa took a step forward, raising a trembling hand.

"You are...you are the one," she rasped. "You are the god."

The Fairest regarded her with wide eyes. And he saw her for what she was, and she saw him. They did away with their person suits, and Narcissa saw a god when others only saw beauty.

"I am," the Fairest allowed.

This god. This lion god. And she, Queen of Snakes. A basilisk and a lion, trapped in an endless cycle. A monster and a god.

"And you are her," he breathed. "The Godkiller."

The Fairest took a step forward, slowly pulling his sword and then he was running as the Lords and Ladies scattered, screaming and carrying on. Some Apparated on the spot. Others ran for the doors, not knowing how to Apparate.

Hermione cowered in terror, searching for someone to help her. The Fairest launched himself forward, swinging his sword down on Draco. A sword met his, blocking and Hermione stared at Dolohov's large, hulking shadow. The Fairest's eyes narrowed on Dolohov, slowly tilting his head.

"You are Antonin Dolohov," the Fairest murmured.

Dolohov's lips curled. "And you're the little bitch that cost me my _land_."

"Ginevra Weasley owes you a death. I'll let her have this one," the Fairest whispered and then he kicked out, knocking Dolohov back into Draco. The Fairest spun, his eyes wide in the chaos, and he looked over Hermione. Hermione stared back at him in wide-eyed terror. "You've got a wand, Hermione Granger?"

Hermione nodded, wordlessly.

"Good. We're going to run. Get it out," he said. He looked around, pulling his wand and shouting a spell at an approaching soldier. The soldier flew back, properly Stunned. "I'm Harry Wildfyre and I'm here to spring you. Let's go. BARTY!"

Hermione gasped as Barty broke away and grabbed Hermione by the hand and they began to run down the aisle. Hermione nearly tripped over her skirts as Barty bodily dragged her from the Hall, running behind Harry Wildfyre. Hermione glanced over his shoulder, hoping to catch sight of the Slytherins. Draco was recovering, tended to by Dolohov and _Blaise_ , but Narcissa and the Dark Lord watched them. Narcissa's expression twisted in her cold rage.

"TOM!" she roared. " _KILL. THEM._ "

The Dark Lord took a step forward, a curiously amused glint in his crimson eyes. Hermione turned back around, terrified of the look and began to run faster, her skirts bunched up in her arms.

"Barty! What's happening?" she shouted in terror. She looked around at the running nobles. They were trampling over each other to get out, and she couldn't tell anyone from anyone anymore. She froze, suddenly. "Luna! Where's Luna?"

"Luna will be fine," Barty muttered. "Rodolphus is getting her. Come on, Hermione. We don't have much time."

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Hermione Granger. I'm going to get you out of here alive. _BOMBARDA!_ "

The enormous doors shattered open and Hermione gasped in awe of the amount of power the Fairest possessed. The doors crumpled under his force and Hermione stared outside and saw only carnage.

The soldiers that had accompanied them to Rowena's haven were all engaged in battle. Hermione gasped as she saw a centaur, wearing armor emblazoned with a phoenix on his chest, leap over another soldier, letting loose an arrow that found its mark in his neck. Blood spurted out, covering Hermione's chest in blood. Hermione froze in shock.

"Come on, Hermione! No time to stop!" Barty shouted, pulling her along. They ran through the battle, and there were so many things happening that Hermione could barely catch sight of them. All she could see was blood and magic and carnage and _war_. War was as _ugly_ as it was beautiful. "Harry! This would be the time to call Freia."

Hermione screamed as she heard the screech. It was the deafening, inhuman sound that she had ever heard in her life. It was something that she couldn't even conjure in her dreams. The Lady Granger looked up as a dark shadow crossed overhead, its wings outstretched and Harry Wildfyre raised his hand.

" _FREIA, TO ME!_ " Harry roared as they ran and the _dragon_ shrieked, landing in front of them, curling around them like an enormous living armor. Hermione threw herself against Harry's body, crying out

"Is that a _dragon_?" Hermione demanded.

Harry grinned at her and turned to Freia. One poison yellow eye looked back at him, blinking lazily. Hermione spun back and watched the Aurors and soldiers stumble back, terrified as 'Freia' lifted her large head and let out a fearsome roar. Harry pulled away from Hermione and Barty and held up his sword.

"Freia, _füir."_

And the world caught on fire.

 **MIRROR, MIRROR**

"Kill them," Narcissa growled, looking around at the chaos. She could hear the screams and carnage just outside the walls. She looked around and saw her soldiers rushing out. Dolohov was roaring out orders, Conjuring his battle robes onto him, Conjuring a sword.

He looked back at her and she nodded once.

Dolohov didn't look back again.

"Did you see him?" Draco murmured, reaching for Blaise who squeezed tight on his shoulder.

"I saw him, Draco. I saw him," Blaise murmured. He turned to Narcissa, Bartemius, and the Dark Lord. "What do we do?"

"We fight," Voldemort said, coldly. He didn't spend another second waiting, already drawing his sword and stalking out of the Throne Hall, intent on reaching the battle as soon as possible.

Narcissa nodded, turning on Lord Crouch.

"What should we do?" Lord Crouch asked.

Narcissa looked around at the Lords and Ladies of the court that remained. She opened her mouth to speak when there was a deafening screech. They cowered, clapping their hands to their ears. Nearly all of them cowered.

"What is _that_ , Mother?" Draco rasped.

A great shadow came through the Throne Hall. Narcissa's lips parted as she saw the great flying beast, a plume of fire escaping it. It couldn't be... _no,_ it couldn't be.

"That's...a _dragon,_ " Lord Crouch whispered.

They stared in wonder as the dragon flew past again, letting out another shriek of fury.

"Spears," Narcissa said, coolly. "Gather all of the Eastern Lords that you know are decent duelists and _fight._ Serve your King!"

She ended with a roar. But, none roared back in eagerness. Narcissa spun around and her nostrils flared. Daphne Greengrass stepped forward, staring at them all with the coldest expression that Narcissa had seen except for in the mirror.

"Daphne?" Draco whispered.

Daphne's lips pressed into a thin line, and suddenly the air smelled like ocean water. The entire Hall smelled the way tears tasted. Suddenly, Daphne Greengrass looked nothing like the girl that Draco had come to know. She took a step back, reaching back to grab onto Augusta and Neville Longbottom. The host of Eastern Lords—all except for Lord Crouch—gathered around the Longbottoms.

"Draco," Narcissa warned, holding out her hand to him.

Draco took a step closer to Daphne.

Daphne slowly shook her head. "I will drown you both," she promised. "I will _drown_ you."

The cracks of the Disapparation was deafening, and Draco clapped his hands to his ears. He cowered, letting out a quiet whimper, and then she was gone. She was gone as if she had never existed and Draco felt his heart shatter. When he turned to look at his mother, Narcissa was staring at him without a single emotion on her face.

"Mother…" he whispered.

Narcissa shook her head. "Hush, my boy. Mother will end this," she whispered and then she whipped her wand over her head.

Draco's eyes widened as her elegant robes slowly transformed into something grander. Her skirts shortened, giving way to dark trousers with a blue overskirt that parted at her front. Chainmail hung over her shoulders, covering her torso. And then, a crossbow appeared in her hand. Narcissa turned to Bartemius Crouch and her eyes narrowed.

"Lord Crouch, outfit my son for battle. I will handle this," Narcissa snarled. She strode forward, her eyes narrowing on one stray Order member in the Entrance Hall.

Slowly, she lifted her crossbow, drawing back with her wand. She snapped her wand forward, and the magical bolt found its mark in the center of the man's skull.

 **ON THE WALL**

Ginny let out a guttural roar as she took the string of her bow to a man's neck and wrenched it across, slitting his throat. His gurgling echoed in her ear like a war drum, but it was over as soon as it began. Ginny spun, shooting another arrow into a man's chest, watching him crumple. Just as it killed another man, a heavy blow came across the back of her head and she crumpled, falling to one knee.

She turned her knee, blinded by blood and shouted, " _REDUCTO!_ "

Blood splattered her entire front, filled her mouth. Ginny spat out the mouthful of blood and gore that didn't belong to her. She wiped away the blood from her eyes with a quick swipe of her hand. She staggered up, clutching the back of her head, observing the carnage that surrounded her. She didn't know if she had killed friends or foes, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was her survival.

Ginny had been in battle since she was a child. Her first kill was made at the tender age of thirteen. Battle and blood were not foreign. But, there was something daunting about war. It roared in her ear, so loud that could barely hear her thoughts. Everywhere she turned, she saw foe and friend equally slain. Freia roared over their heads, swerving and dodging the spears being thrown into the air, carefully waiting for her master's command.

"Ginny! Ginny!"

Ginny spun, her rope braid whipping around with her. Her heart dropped into her belly.

She had seen him since it happened.

It was inevitable as an Order member. Antonin Dolohov had been one of the most active Death Eaters and was formidable. He was gruesome and cruel, but he was at his most terrible outside of battle. Ginny knew that well.

Slowly, Ginny lifted her bow, pulling forth what felt like her last arrow. She took aim at his head, as he was distracted dueling with both Michael Corner and Justin Finch-Fletchley, Cedric's Adored Ones. Ginny felt like every moment of her life had led up to this moment. Ginny's life was split in two for her—before the rape and after the rape.

Ginny barely remembered anything before.

She remembered _everything_ after.

Ginny's eyes narrowed as she prepared to let loose the most important arrow of her life.

She let it fly.

Dolohov looked up and whipped his wand. The arrow disintegrated.

Ginny's heart stopped in her chest as Dolohov grinned at her and then whipped around, slicing his sword across Michael Corner's throat. Ginny could just hear a familiar shout in her ear, yet she felt so far away. Dolohov still hadn't looked away from. Or rather, it was like he was looking through her.

Dolohov waved his wand, lazily, batting Justin away. Justin flew away from the duel site, crashing into another duel.

And then, Dolohov bowed to her.

Ginny slowly slung her bow across her back and tilted her chin up. She took a step forward and then another. Cedric staggered after her, just at her shoulder but, Ginny paid him no mind. Her eyes never wavered from her opponent.

"Ginevra Weasley. How I've missed you," Antonin Dolohov rasped.

"Do you know him?" Cedric whispered. Ginny could feel the harshness of his breath against her ear. He had put his mourning away for later.

"A Death Eater. He raped me when I was a girl," Ginny said, coldly. She lifted her chin higher. "Dolohov."

And then she fell into a bow, never shattering eye contact. Dolohov's lips curled into a smile.

"Let us begin. _Avada Kedavra_ ," Dolohov hissed.

Cedric flicked his wand, Summoning a broken body in front of the spell. He cringed when he realized that it was Michael's. Ginny didn't flinch as the body fell away in a crumpled heap.

" _Mardkhora_ ," she growled. The Man-Eating Curse erupted from her wand and Dolohov seemed surprised by the Darkness of the spell. He batted it away with a quick Shield Charm and Ginny roared, launching herself forward, Cedric at her side.

It was a true duel then. Ginny didn't need words. Instead, she used her _rage_. With every twitch of her muscles, another curse exploded out of her in jets of black and red, in streaks of white and bright blue and sparks of purple. And every time, Dolohov laughed, batting them away. His eyes were alight with both fury and excitement. Ginny looked down at the man's crotch and her sneer grew into a grimace.

He was _hard._

"I've always remembered _you_ , Ginevra Weasley. You were a tight little whore. Nice underneath me. You were always my _favorite_ ," he hissed.

Ginny let out an inhuman roar, and then she was flying forward, ripping her bow off her back. Dolohov looked surprised that she had abandoned their magical duel for a physical one. Ginny snarled, whipping around him, bringing the arrow string to his neck. Before she could slide the razor-thin string across his neck, his hand looped through, his wrist breaking through the bowstring. He spun around, slamming his fist in her stomach. Ginny reacted as if she hadn't felt it though she felt agony ripple up her body. He snatched her bow from her hand and brought it across the back of her head.

Ginny grunted as she fell to her knees.

" _Bombarda!_ " Cedric shouted.

The ground between Ginny and Dolohov exploded. Just as Ginny flew back, so did Dolohov. Cedric caught Ginny around the middle.

"Thanks," she rasped.

"He killed Michael," Cedric said as explanation, a guttural growl that reminded Ginny that this man had spent many years as a beast. The rage on his face was too powerful to be human, and Ginny knew how powerful human rage could be.

The two looked away from one another and Ginny's eyes widened as a tall, thin man joined at Dolohov's side. His skin was stretched tight across his face and his eyes were so dark that Ginny was terrified of drowning in them.

"That's Walden MacNair. He's Commander of the Navy," Ginny said. She swallowed hard. "He's a Death Eater. One of the first. Get ready, Cedric."

The two lifted their wands, ready for the inevitable duel.

"You won't be needing this anymore, sweetheart," Dolohov growled and then he broke her bow in half over his knee. Ginny felt her rage swell. "MacNair, let's finish this, eh?"

And then, their vision was obscured by a flurry of red.

Ginny gasped as Tonks was suddenly in front of the two Death Eaters and she roared in their face, bringing her swords across MacNair's throat, taking his head clean off his shoulders. Dolohov barely had a moment to react before Tonks was launching herself backward, standing in front of Cedric and Ginny.

"You...you moved so fast!" Cedric gasped.

Tonks didn't even look away from Dolohov as he frantically tried to back away. The man turned on his heel and began to run.

"He's getting away!" Ginny shouted, pointing as the man disappeared into the thick of the battle. She went to pursue him but Tonks' hand shot out.

"No. We can always get him another time. Look around, Ginny. Look alive," Tonks barked in her commander-voice. Ginny winced, looking up and she swallowed her terror.

They were surrounded by at least two dozen soldiers. Three-quarters Muggle. A quarter magical.

"Okay. Okay," Cedric whispered, breathing softly. Slowly, he turned, putting his back to the two of them. Ginny finished the formation, turning away from them, staring at their surroundings.

"Okay. We can do this," Tonks murmured. "Twenty-four. Three of us. Okay. Ginny, summon your arrows. You take eight. Cedric, you take eight. And I'll take eight. That'll work. That'll work."

Ginny didn't say it wouldn't even though she knew...it _wouldn't._

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!"_ Tonks roared, spinning out and jerking her crimson sword back. An electric green spell shot out of the end of it, colliding with one of the soldiers.

Ginny whipped her wand out, Summoning her arrows to her hand. She turned slamming them into the ground and then she was on her knees, whipping out her arrows from the ground and shooting. She spun on her knees, taking out another through the throat. Cedric was roaring, leaping forward, spinning and beheaded another.

"It's not enough!" he roared as a blade came across the back of his calf and he crumpled to one knee. He raised up his sword to block a blow, but he didn't have the time to recover for another.

And before Ginny could run to him, there was a flash of green light.

She gasped as a streak of black covered them, a great broadsword swinging over the Dark Lord's head as it came down on Cedric's would-be killer. The soldiers cowered in fright as the Dark Lord fell back against Tonks' back, lifting his own sword.

"Nymphadora, how many?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"Eighteen left. Ginny can cover stragglers," Tonks barked.

The Dark Lord nodded once. "Let's finish this."

Ginny had seen many things in battle. She had seen atrocities and wonder. But, seeing the two Slytherins on the battlefield was awe-inspiring. Tonks and the Dark Lord had the same innate grace in battle that those Fateborn seemed to possess. Tonks brought down man after man while the Dark Lord whipped his wand, disemboweling those he didn't have a chance to cut down. They moved in perfect sync, ducking around one another, covering each other without a second thought, barely breathing.

"Cover the Prince!" the Dark Lord roared.

Ginny blinked, suddenly snapping back into action. She gathered her arrows and slid across the open space on her knees, taking a defensive position over Cedric as he sloppily tried to heal the deep laceration on his calf.

The Dark Lord hissed as he spun through the air, cutting through one of the last. As the two Slytherins closed in on their last opponent, the man suddenly stunk of shit and urine. He quivered before them, dropping his sword and wand to the ground, lifting his hands above his head.

"M-m-my Lord? W-why?" he whispered.

Voldemort's lips curled into a snarl and with a swing of his sword, the man was beheaded. "Long live Harry Wildfyre. Long live the King."

 **WHO IS**

"Hermione! HERMIONE!" Barty roared as he ran across the battlefield, slaying all the men and women that got in his way. He slammed his sword into a man's chest, to the hilt before ripping it out. To another woman, he Summoned her heart from her chest and crushed it in his hand before letting it fall to the field, reduced to a bloody pulp. "HERMIONE!"

"I need some backup!"

Barty jerked in the middle of his running and he turned to see a familiar shock of red hair. It was Weasley. Barty dashed forward, pressing his back against Ronald Weasley's. Ron looked over his shoulder at him.

"Barty Crouch, right?" Ron asked. He whipped out his wand, blasting away another one of the Slytherin soldiers. He spun out, crashing to the ground and then was promptly trampled by a centaur.

"Yeah. I've got your back. But, I'll need something from you," Barty shouted. He Summoned another heart out of someone's chest.

"What?" Ron roared as he ducked and threw his ax into someone's head. He Summoned it back, ripping part of someone's skull right off.

"The girl in the wedding robes? Hermione Granger? If you see her, run with her! Take her back," Barty shouted and Ron scoffed.

"What does one girl matter?"

"She's the richest heiress in the Republic, you dolt! If you want to discredit and humiliate Draco Slytherin, you'll steal his damn bride," Barty snarled, and then he lifted his wand. " _Crucio_! _Imperio_! _Imperio!_ "

The two Slytherin soldiers turned on his fellows and that finally gave Ron and Barty enough of a reprieve to catch their breath. Ron was a mess of blood and sweat, his face wane and his freckles stark against his skin. He looked dehydrated but he would live.

"Alright. But, I can't get through all of this on foot," Ron snapped. "I've lost my horse."

Barty scoffed and turned around. He slowly took aim at one soldier riding past them on horseback.

" _Avada Kedavra_." The soldier crashed off, and the horse neighed loudly, skittish by the close call with Death. Barty raised his wand, whipping out a rope and lassoing the horse.

"Good enough," Ron called as he ran and mounted the horse. He cut the rope Barty had Conjured with his wand and then he was riding past. "I'll try to find her! You keep looking too!"

"I have to find the Lestranges!" Barty shouted back.

Ron didn't respond, already riding into the chaos, swooping low to cut the throats of more soldiers. Barty cringed when he saw three Order members—a Veela, a witch, and a Muggle—die to the crushing might of a fallen giant. Barty turned away from the gruesome scene but once more, his vision was obscured by the crush of bodies.

"HERMIONE! RODOLPHUS! _HERMIONE!_ "

Barty spun around at the sound of the familiar voice. He had never heard Luna's voice wrenched with terror but there it was. She wrapped her arms around her middle, screaming out their names, her white-blonde hair dyed pink from all the blood. She stumbled out of the way of a duel, ducking under spells.

"Luna! Luna!" Barty shouted as he skidded across blood soaked grass. He whipped out his wand, cursing one of the approaching soldiers and Banishing them _permanently._ He wrapped his arms around Luna, pulling her tight to his side. "Are you okay? Are you okay?"

"I can't...I can't find them. Where's Hermione? Rodolphus?" Luna wept, clutching onto Barty's battle robes. Her fingers were so wet with blood and tears, they slipped right off, finding no purchase.

"They're in...they're in the middle of that," Barty whispered.

If he looked hard enough, he could make out Harry in the thick of it. Luna seemed to see him too.

"Is that...is that him?" Luna whispered. "Is that the Wyrdfod?"

Barty swallowed. "I...yeah, that's him. That's Harry Wildfyre."

And Harry was fighting with the sort of brutality that Barty had only ever seen in his own Master. Harry's face was speckled with blood, and he looked like he had a cut on his cheek and a burgeoning bruise around his neck. But, otherwise, he was whole. He wielded his sword without hesitation with one hand and his wand in the other. For every swing of his sword, he was awarded blood and every whip of his wand allowed another to bow under the force of his magic.

Harry headbutted another soldier, snarling, and stabbed his sword down, finishing him off. He ripped it out and with the force of his momentum, he whipped it around, slitting another man's throat.

And then, they could see him no more, hidden by the cloud of carnage and magic in the air.

"We...we have to find Rodolphus. I-I told him I'd find him," Luna stammered, frantically.

Barty shook his head. "I-I have to get you out of here and then I-I have to find Hermione," he said instead.

Luna's eyes widened. "I'll go with you! We have to find her! She's out here by herself. You took her! You took her and ran and then you lost her and I lost Rodolphus and…" she broke off with a sob.

Barty had never seen Luna cry. She was always so serene. Never affected. But, war turned the best into broken memories of themselves. Barty grabbed her by her shoulders.

"Luna, you _cannot_ break," Barty said, firmly. "I know what happened to you, but you survived. You have to fight back. You are the strongest person I know besides Hermione. You cannot give up. You cannot break, do you understand me? We have to find Rodolphus and Hermione. We have to save them."

"Save a traitor when you can't even save yourself?"

Barty whipped around, eyes wild. His eyes narrowed on Thorfinn Rowle. Rowle, a fellow Death Eater, who had proven disloyal. Barty pushed Luna behind him and cracked his neck, slowing lifting his wand as he faced a man that had once been his comrade. His ally. His _friend._

"Rowle, you need to back away. I don't want to kill you," Barty admitted.

Rowle let out a harsh laugh. "Boy, I've been fighting for as long as you've been alive. What would the Dark Lord think if he saw you now? Fighting for the other side because of a tight cunt. You're _pathetic_ , Crouch," Rowle growled. Barty opened his mouth to debate his friend. " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

But, there were no friends in war.

Barty whipped his wand, Summoning a body in front of him. The green Killing Curse collided with the body. Barty Banished the corpse and followed with a nonverbal Cutting Curse. Rowle batted it away with a swing of his wand. Barty reached out with his hand, pulled it to his mouth and pressed the tip of his wand to his lips. He breathed out lightning, and Rowle's eyes widened as he cast a Shield Charm. The lightning was redirected towards the sky.

The bolt of white seemed to draw attention.

But, Barty only had a mind for the duel before him and the girl that he was protecting. He raised his wand and then was hit with a spell.

 _His_ spell.

Barty crumpled under the Cruciatus, laughing and writhing with the agony. His back arched with the pain that felt like the stabbing of a thousand white-hot knives. Luna fell to her knees, holding his body in her lap, her arms tight around him to stop his seizing.

"Is this Rodolphus' little slut?" Rowle snarled. He had a terrible smile on his face. "I wonder...would the Dark Lord allow me her as a gift? I would fuck her to death in front of Rodolphus' traitor corpse."

He let up the curse and Barty suddenly felt like he could breathe again. Luna helped him to his feet, but she stood just beside him now.

"You won't _ever_ touch me," Luna snarled, suddenly spitting rage and she held up her wand, grabbing a tight hold on Barty's shoulder to steady him. "You won't _ever_ touch him again."

"What are you going to do, _cunt_?" Rowle barked. He whipped his wand at her, letting a purple curse fly. Luna spun out of the way, dragging Barty with her.

"I will _crucify_ you," Luna hissed.

"Who are you to threaten _me_?" Rowle laughed. He threw another spell at them and the ground in front of them exploded. They would've exploded with it if Barty hadn't thrown both of them back in time.

Luna staggered but didn't let up. "I am Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius and _Pandora_. I am descended from a bloodline that is over a thousand years old and you do not _scare_ me," she snarled and then she spun, whipping her whole body around. With the momentum of her turn, she summoned magic from the air and Rowle was thrown backward, crashing into a duel before he came to a stop.

Barty's eyes widened.

"What...the...fuck?" he whispered, staring at the fearsome woman before him.

Luna looked terrified at what she had done. And then she froze, looking into the air. "Mother?" she whispered.

But, Rowle had already recovered, drawing a sword from a fallen body and running at them. Barty curled himself around Luna, lifting his wand, preparing his most powerful Shield Charm.

But, it wasn't needed.

As Rowle descended upon them, a figure appeared at their side, swinging his sword with a force that Barty had never seen. Rowle's eyes widened as his Master's sword cut across his front and blood spurted from his chest.

"M-my Lord?" Rowle rasped, collapsing to his knees, as if in prayer.

Voldemort's face was cold and he pulled his wand. " _Avada Kedavra._ "

The green light lit Rowle's face a ghastly color and Rowle went slack. He was dead. Voldemort stepped over the crumpled body.

"L-Lord Voldemort," Luna whispered.

Voldemort turned and stared at them like he'd seen a ghost. Barty looked up and saw a red crimson cloak flowing after him. Tonks was running past them, her eyes trained on the slight clearing in the battle. They all looked and saw Harry, fighting his way across the field towards Minerva McGonagall as she dueled four soldiers at a time—Muggle and magical alike. Then, a familiar figure draped in blue stepped forward, blonde braids streaming behind her painted face.

 _Narcissa._

And then Tonks skidded to a stop, staring at Luna.

"Pandora?" Tonks whispered, reaching out towards her before jerking her hand back in terror. "Pandora?"

"M-my mother. That's my mother's name...how do you know my mother?" Luna whispered.

Tonks shook her head, clearing her mind of everything rushing past her.

"It doesn't matter. I have to get to Harry. I have to get to Harry and McGonagall. I have to," Tonks said, frantically, looking around. She paused. "Remus...where's Remus?"

"Lupin is at the rear, taking care of deserters," Voldemort murmured. "Nymphadora…"

"Where's Harry? I have to get to him. He can't...he can't do this alone. He...he needs to know. He needs to know," Tonks rasped.

And then she was interrupted by a harrowing, broken scream. It was the type of grief that Barty had never heard nor witnessed. It was a voice that he recognized.

"Harry…" the Dark Lord whispered.

The scream continued, getting louder and louder, cracking and breaking and fracturing their world. Barty looked around as people flinched from the sound, and it seemed like the war had quieted for just a moment, to witness the public grief. And then the scream tapered out.

" _Harry_ ," Tonks sobbed. She turned round and round, as if unsure where to go "I have to get to him. It's too...late. I _have_ to. I can't do this. I'm not ready. I'm not ready. He doesn't _know._ He has to know, Uncle. He has to know that he's...that Pandora...Harry! Harry!"

"NYMPHADORA!"

Tonks froze as Voldemort shouted at her. Finally, she turned to her uncle and looked up at him. He was staring down at Luna Lovegood like he'd never seen her before. Barty held her tight against his chest and shook his head.

"Uncle?" Tonks whispered, her voice cracking.

"You will take Barty and Luna. Find Rodolphus Lestrange and _run_ ," Voldemort commanded.

Tonks' heart stopped. "No! I can't leave Harry!"

"I can't leave Hermione!" Barty roared even as he held Luna tighter against his body. She trembled, her eyes wide as Voldemort spun suddenly drawing his wand in arc.

The running soldiers exploded in showers of blood, raining over them.

"I will find Harry. I will _not_ let him die. I won't allow it," Voldemort hissed.

Tonks scoffed. "If he died, you'd be free from your Vow. I don't _trust_ you, Voldemort," Tonks accused, raising her wand.

"Trust this: I am about to become _everything_ that I said I wouldn't be and everything they said that I _would_ be. Kingmaker. Oathbreaker. Kinslayer. Kingslayer," Voldemort said, coldly and Tonks took a step back, her eyes wide.

"Kinslaying?" she whispered.

Voldemort raised his wand. "I am willing to go the lengths that I would never ask of anyone. Take her. Take Luna Lovegood and run. I'll send Rodolphus after you. Don't let Pandora's daughter _die_. We can't let Pandora's daughter die."

Tonks trembled at the thought and she reached out, yanking Luna against her chest. Luna let out a cry, reaching back out for Barty and Voldemort.

"Don't...uncle, don't let him _die._ Save him. Tell him… 'you are the Light'. Tell him. Don't. Let. Him. _Die._ This is what it means to be Fateborn," Tonks begged, tears streaming down her face and then she spun, disappearing in a swirl of crimson.

 **FAIREST**

The fist connected with his mouth and Harry grunted as his tooth flew out of his mouth, ripped free. The soldier looked amused by his audacity and Harry wiped the blood pouring from his mouth, swallowing the taste of iron. Harry's lips pulled into a sneer and he spun, bringing the sword down across the man's wrist, taking his hand off. The soldier screamed and Harry quickly followed with a blade across the man's throat.

He used to his momentum to fire off another Reductor Curse and more blood showered through the air. Harry wanted to use his Fire, but the battle was fought in close quarters. There was no telling as to whether he'd catch an ally in the heat of his flames.

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

Harry's head jerked up at the familiar voice. He felt panic overwhelm as McGonagall battled four soldiers at a time. A Muggle soldier crumpled at her feet like a ragdoll. It was clear the woman was only really paying attention to the magical threats. Silver and red lit her face as she batted away spells and jinxes, returning curses tenfold.

Something caught Harry's eyes.

A woman was approaching the duel, a crossbow high in her hand and a wand in the other. Her long blonde braids bounced against her back. Her blue eyes were colder than even Draco's, and there was something about her that looked inhuman. Harry could recognize something about himself in others.

 _Fateborn._

The Godkiller.

"Madame! Madame, look out!" Harry shouted, but he was drawn back into his own battle, having to defend himself. McGonagall didn't hear him and Harry threw his hand out, scalding one soldier across the face, watching his skin melt and twist and burn.

Harry staggered away from the smell of burning flesh towards McGonagall. McGonagall was still deep in battle, but as she slew the second Muggle soldier, she finally seemed to notice Narcissa's presence. Narcissa stood in the thick of the chaos, untouched by blood or sweat or filth. She looked tall and powerful, and her Fateborn name suited her. _Godkiller_.

Narcissa slowly took aim.

"NO!" Harry screamed, pushing through the thick of the bodies, ducking under spells and skidded through mud and dirt on his knees. He pushed up as he fell, pushed over by a falling centaur. He shouted when a body fell on his leg, pinning him to the ground. " _Bombarda!_ "

The body exploded, becoming nothing and Harry pushed himself up, scurrying forward.

"MADAME! MADAME!" Harry shrieked.

His world zeroed into a single moment. It was only a moment. Harry would remember it as happening in less than a second and taking a thousand years.

McGonagall turned as the magical soldier tried to take her from behind. Narcissa lifted her wand in one hand. She lifted her crossbow in the other.

The Godkiller drew her wand back, and the air quivered.

He would always swear that he heard the way the bolts sounded entering her flesh. The red light of a Cutting Curse seared itself to inside of his eyeballs.

Harry screamed as McGonagall's broken body crumpled to the ground, her back arched, three bolts lining her spine, the cut throat still spewing blood from Narcissa's ruthless Cutting Curse. Narcissa looked up at the sound, her teeth bared into a bloody grin. She spun, her crossbow raised over her shoulder and her wand in her hand. Harry fell to his knees, unable to move, just as he reached her side.

The world seemed to slow down in its chaos.

McGonagall reached a trembling hand towards him, the other hand pressed against her throat.

"L-Li—" she gurgled before her eyes went blank and Harry couldn't stop _screaming_.

"Harry! Madame!" Hagrid shouted, running over. He leaped over the other fallen bodies, his gaze only on Harry, his hammer loose in his hands. Harry's eyes widened and he raised his hand to stop him.

"Hagrid, n—"

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Narcissa hissed and Harry screeched as the green spell connected with Hagrid's body.

Hagrid fell mid-run, collapsing with a thud that would've made the ground tremble if it weren't for the carnage that roared around them. Harry let out a broken scream, flinching away from the death. Narcissa's lips curled into a small smile as she turned her wand onto him. Harry stared at her, unable to move.

" _Avada—_ "

" _Scindo Cor!_ "

Harry's eyes widened as a woman in white stood before him, her wand held out. Narcissa dove out of the way of the Heart-Fragmenting Curse. Before Narcissa could recover, another duel crossed in front of them, temporarily shielding them. Hermione Granger spun around, looking down at him with wild eyes. She was covered in blood, crimson slicking her entire front from the hem of her dress up to her nose. She trembled.

"You have to get up. Get _up_ , Harry Wildfyre!" Hermione shouted, throwing her hand out.

"Why? She's dead…" Harry whispered, staring at McGonagall's broken body.

Hermione shook her head. " _YOU'RE THE WYRDFOD! GET UP! YOU HAVE TO SAVE US! SAVE US FROM THEM!"_

And Harry jerked with her shout. He looked up at her, lost, but she took his hand anyway, yanking him up. He stumbled, raising his sword. Hermione's face was hard, and she lifted her wand, standing at his side.

"You should run," Harry rasped. He was tired. So very tired.

"I'm _tired_ of running," Hermione snapped back and she suddenly waved her wand over the two fallen bodies. Harry's eyes widened. "That'll...that'll keep them safe until this is over."

Harry swallowed. "I...I can't leave without their bodies," Harry said, softly.

Hermione's eyes didn't soften. "You won't," she said. She lifted her wand and shut her eyes tight. Harry's eyes widened when the words emerged. " _Expecto Patronum_."

A silvery otter leaped forth from her wand. Non-verbally, Hermione waved her wand again.

"This is Hermione Granger," she said to the otter. "I am with Harry Wildfyre. The _Wyrdfod_. If you find this, you're on the Order's side. We have two bodies here that need to be retrieved. Follow the red sparks!"

The otter dashed away the moment that she finished speaking and then she lifted her wand, ready to send up the red sparks.

"What are _you_ doing, little sister?"

Hermione hesitated and Harry turned to see a man that looked nothing like Hermione. He was tall and dark with terribly cruel light eyes. He staggered towards them, the battle already taking its toll on him.

"Get back," Hermione snarled. She didn't hesitate a second time. She sent red sparks into the air and Blaise whipped his wand, spitting a curse that neither could hear.

Harry reached in front of them, shooting a nonverbal Shield Charm.

"Your husband is looking for you," Blaise said, coldly and he staggered back.

Harry froze as he stepped to the side. He was flanked by a large, hulking man that held his wand tight in his fist and a mallet in the other.

This Draco Slytherin was different from the man that Harry remembered.

This Draco Slytherin moved with a sense of purpose, his grey eyes turned to steel in the war light.

This Draco Slytherin was not a figure of malice and rage. He moved with the heaviness and cruelty of grief.

This Draco Slytherin looked like he had nothing to lose. And Harry knew that this wouldn't be easy.

"Are you sure you don't want to run?" Harry muttered at the corner of his mouth.

Hermione Granger scoffed at him. "You can't take them all by yourself. Are you ready?"

"Are you going to fight me, _sister_?" Blaise shrieked, his eyes wide with madness.

Hermione's gown was in rags, the train long gone, covered in fresh blood. Her glass slippers were long gone, having been turned to shards. Her feet were bloody and ruined and she had never felt more like herself.

"I'm going to kill you," she promised.

Blaise laughed. "I _dare_ you. Kill me...just as I _murdered_ your filthy Muggle father. Yes, Mother and I were _eager_ for that. He died like the filth he was. Succumbed to something weak like _poison._ "

Hermione's nostrils flared. Her eyes widened so much that her pupils looked like tiny pinpricks.

" _CARNIFEX!_ " Hermione shrieked, throwing one of the Darkest curses she knew. The Butchery Curse took Blaise by surprise and he ducked out of the way.

" _PRAESTRANGULO!"_ Blaise snarled the Asphyxiating Curse just as Hermione fired off a Disarming Charm.

Harry's eyes widened at the ferocity of Hermione and Blaise's duel. It was all dripping magic and spells. When Hermione and Blaise's spells collided, a burst of power blew back the observers' hair, and magical remnant dripped off, crackling like lightning. Blaise gritted his teeth as Hermione's red Disarming Charm began to push back harder and rolled his shoulders, hissing.

Harry spun as he heard the descending piece of steel. He turned, pulling up his sword for a block and he gasped when he saw how close Draco's face was to his.

"Pay attention, Pretender," Draco said through clenched teeth. His face was pale. Harry could see the whites of his eyes. "I want to see the light leave your eyes when I impale you on my sword."

It was two duels, happening side by side, one fought with steel and the other with magic. Harry staggered under the force of Draco's blows, shocked by the amount of force behind them. After being taken by surprise, to begin with, Harry didn't think he'd recover his footing enough to go on the offense. He took each blow, parrying them away, defending himself. He ducked under a heavy swing, cringing away from it. Draco spat at him.

"I will _kill_ you. You killed my _friends_. My _men._ You aspire to my _throne_!" Draco roared, punctuating each accusation with a blow that Harry took as best as he could. Harry cried out as he was nearly thrown into the middle of Hermione's duel.

Hermione took it with ease, pulling her spell back and shooting off a quick Disarming Charm that threw Draco back before returning to her duel.

"Thanks!" Harry cried and she barely acknowledged it as she spat out another curse that Blaise flung away with a flick of his wrist.

Harry launched himself forward, finally on the offensive. He got in two quick hits, slamming the pommel of his sword and cracking Draco's nose. Draco roared as blood streamed from his nostrils. Harry grunted when the large man crashed into his side. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and went to shake him.

"No, Crabbe. He's mine," Draco hissed bitingly.

They crashed together again, steel upon steel. The sharp edges slid against one another, sparks flying between them, biting their cheeks. Harry was sliding through the wet grass, towards Hermione and Blaise's duel.

" _CRUCIO!_ " Blaise roared, aiming for Hermione.

Hermione ducked under it. Her eyes narrowed as she gathered the hatred that stirred in her belly. Her hatred was all-consuming, something that had festered and grown for years. Hermione had once been sick with her hatred, but now, it was so much _more_. Her hatred had grown into the one thing she had been deprived of for years— _power._

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Hermione hissed, aiming at Blaise.

Blaise tried to spin out of Hermione's way, but it was too late. The spell connected with its mark and for a moment, Harry's world was colored green.

Draco let out a hoarse cry of agony as Blaise's body fell like an abandoned ragdoll and he threw his sword down again over Harry. Harry crumpled to his knees from the force of the blow. Hermione took a step back in confused terror as the dragon flew overhead, shrieking and avoiding the spears being thrown into the air. Hermione spun as Draco threw his sword down and Harry fought against him, slowly rising.

Hermione took a step forward to help when there was a loud galloping. She turned, wide-eyed as a redheaded man galloped straight towards her. He was broad-shouldered and strangely handsome covered in mud and blood. The phoenix emblazoned across his chest helped. Hermione raised his wand anyway.

She had no idea whose side anyone was on. Barty and Luna were lost to her.

"Stop or I'll—" she started.

"Barty sent me! Up you get," the redheaded man with the war ax said, grabbing Hermione by the waist and slinging her up onto the horse behind him.

They watched as Harry slowly stood, pressing Draco's blade back with his own, his body trembling with the effort. He kicked out, catching Draco in the chest. Draco stumbled back but came back twice as hard. The world seemed to slow as if they were all moving through water and when Harry and Draco crossed blades again, once more, they were at a stalemate.

"You will not take my throne," Draco hissed, his spittle flying on to Harry's face.

"It was never _yours_ ," Harry spat.

There was the abrupt click of a bolt emptying from a crossbow. An arrow whistled through the air and Draco looked up, sharply.

Harry spun, eyes wide with fear and he only caught a glimpse of the Godkiller, her mouth pulled into a grimaced.

His view was suddenly blocked by a man donning black. The bolt disintegrated mid-air.

"Tom…" Harry whispered as Voldemort spun, blasting Draco back with a nonverbal Disarming spell.

Harry staggered back as Voldemort stood before him, his sword held up defensively. The Dark Lord spun around and grabbed Harry by the back of his neck and pulled him in, pressing their foreheads together.

"Harry...grab Freia and run. Run and don't look back," Voldemort hissed, glancing over his shoulder. He batted away a stray curse with a flick of his wand.

"I'm not leaving you!" Harry roared. He spun and fired a lightning spell at an approaching soldier. The black and white jet of magic crashed into the Auror and he crumpled with a strangled cry. He whipped back around, staring up at Voldemort in desperation.

"You _will._ Leave me because you are the King that this wretched world doesn't deserve. We don't _deserve_ you. You are Fateborn. You are the Light," Voldemort snarled, pressing a hard kiss to Harry's lips. He pulled back and raised his wand again, turning his back on him, defending him.

Harry swallowed, pressing his forehead between Voldemort's shoulder blades.

"I love you," he whispered and then he spun around, running towards his landed dragon.

Freia shrieked at him. She bent her head towards him, whining hard as if she wasn't the great beast that everyone saw her as now. Harry swallowed hard as they were circled and he pressed his back against her as if he could protect her with his own body as he should've protected McGonagall and Hagrid.

And then, he thought of Morgin of Afallon.

Harry swallowed hard and spun, sinking his fingers between the scales, into the soft bits, slowly climbing. Freia lowered herself as if she knew what he was trying to do. Harry had no doubt that she did. He settled himself on the nape of her long neck, his fingers curling around two large spikes. Slowly, Freia began to go forward, roaring, and the Aurors stumbled back, even as they raised their wands, throwing spells at her near impenetrable body.

"Fly, Freia. _Renia_ ," Harry said, so soft that he didn't think she would hear.

But, then, she was crawling forward, her wings flapping and then they were airborne, flying through the air. Harry gasped as his stomach swooped, and his eyes water as she sailed through the skies, over the battle. There was something that felt so right as Freia went higher and higher. He clenched his thighs tight, held onto her spikes as tight as he could, as she spiraled through the air before she began to level out, hovering in the air.

 _You are not just the Fire in your skin. You are not just a king. You are important. Necessary._

Harry could see all of their eyes staring up at him. Harry lifted his hands and Summoned the Fire. It spread between his fingers, a blazing fire that felt different from anything he had ever called to him before except one time. This felt like the fire when Freia was born.

The sun beat down harder on the world.

 _What is the largest source of Fire?_

"Freia, _füir!_ "

 _He is not the sun. You are._

Freia opened her large mouth and roared, flames erupting and joining his Fire. He watched as the flames razed the ground, catching up Slytherin soldiers in its wake, twisting around the Order members with all the mastery Harry could muster. He felt sweat bead on his forehead for the first time from the heat of his flames. Harry raised both hands and watched as the fire swirled into the air and exploded in the sky, raining flaming jets of magic down on the battlefield.

The orange flames burned brighter and brighter until the world exploded white. Harry gasped as the heat burned away and the white Fire spun out from his hands, spiraling down to scorch the Earth, consuming the enemies in its path. Harry breathed easier as he stared at the pure Light that exploded around him.

And he knew what McGonagall had wanted to say.

 _You are the Light._

Harry circled the battlefield, on Freia's back, his eyes always trained on Tom as Tom watched his sister through narrowed eyes and she watched him back.

"How could you? How could you betray us?" Narcissa shrieked. Voldemort took a step forward, his sword raised as he circled with his sister. Narcissa raised her crossbow, her eyes narrowed.

"I have not betrayed you," Voldemort said, evenly. Narcissa let out a wild, mad laugh.

"You have not _betrayed_ anyone?"

Voldemort closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Sister...whatever I have done to wrong you...whatever I have done to lead you to do this...to _murder_ our sister...I would fix it if I could," Voldemort whispered to his youngest sister.

He remembered her when she had been innocent and whole. Her porcelain dolls, matching with the little bird's. Their laughter, their childlike games. The way their faces lit up when they whispered their shared secrets.

Narcissa hadn't laughed since the day the little bird had died.

There was only agony and self-loathing trapped in the blue pinpricks of her eyes.

"Would you? Would you bring back my closest friend? You would give me what I was promised?" Narcissa whispered, her voice cracking, her crossbow dropping.

"I would if I could. But, I cannot let you live," Voldemort whispered.

Voldemort lunged forward, swinging his sword. Just as it descended, a sword intercepted. Voldemort felt the vibrations up his arms, deep in his bones and he looked at Draco. Draco looked almost frightened by his own actions. Narcissa looked at her son to her brother and tears slipped down her cheeks. Voldemort wasn't sure about the difference between lies and truth; between gods and monsters.

"Uncle," Draco whispered, trembling.

Voldemort shook his head. "Draco. This is between your mother and I. Step away," Voldemort snarled. Draco did as he was bid, terror stretching his face

"Before I die, tell me. Why was it never me? WHY WAS IT NEVER _ME_?" Narcissa roared, her voice breaking and cracking with grief and loneliness and Voldemort nearly trembled.

Her eyes were so pale. Like the lovely little bird. The first heart.

"You were a child. It can't be any of us and I see that now. It could not be you and it will _never_ be you. The throne no longer belongs to the Slytherins and I will do _everything_ in my power to see your son slain and the Fairest, Harry Wildfyre crowned King-Emperor," Voldemort said, sharply.

Narcissa shook with her fury and she stumbled back, her face twisted into something terrible.

"It all makes sense now! Why you favored Bellatrix all these years! Because no matter _how_ much you claim to love me, you could never have someone less beautiful sitting on the throne!" Narcissa hissed, her words so much more dangerous spoken lowly than screamed.

Voldemort swallowed his fury and broke his sister's heart instead.

He grabbed her by the face and tilted her head up. She looked up at him with dead, cold blue eyes. Voldemort pressed his lips to her forehead before pulling back and stroking her soft, cold cheek.

He pressed his lips to her ear. "Dear sister, I never claimed to love you."

He saw the moment her heart of ice shattered.

Voldemort stepped back as he looked at his enemy; a monster of his own creation.

"You did once," Narcissa whispered.

And he knew that she remembered the same moment she did. The day that he had returned, his lips smeared with Helena's blood, her blood dried into the lines of his palm.

 _Make your heart cold as ice, my love, and one day, you shall sit on the throne made of bones and the blood of your friend. From porcelain to ivory to steel to diamond, my love._

"I did," Voldemort choked. He stared at her and saw the little girl that he had taught how to play chess. The eager little girl that he had promised an empire. That his father had promised an empire. The porcelain doll that laid in the crypts beneath Hogwarts, the crypts Voldemort could never bring himself to visit. That little girl had died that day. "I cannot...kill you."

He said it, confused. He couldn't understand.

Narcissa stared at him with wide broken eyes. "And that makes you weak. You are _weak_ , Tom Marvolo Slytherin."

It did not sound like an insult. It sounded as if Narcissa was trying to convince herself of it all. Voldemort swallowed, centering himself as the world burned around him.

"You misunderstand. I will kill you one day but, that day is not today. I will take my leave but, I want you to say it. Why have you done this?" Voldemort asked without any inflection.

He ignored the battle. Harry was directing the Order to retreat and the Death Eaters followed him. The Aurors were crippled, either ash or burning men or they were running for their lives. Freia shrieked through the air, her master perched on her back, fire swirling around them.

"To prove that I was the worthy one."

Voldemort tilted his head. "Then...you have failed."

The Dark Lord turned from her as Freia landed a hundred feet ahead of him, making the ground tremble. Harry held out his hand, his beautiful green eyes wide and frantic.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Voldemort spun, summoning the dead body of an Auror. The smell of burning flesh filled Voldemort's nose and he tossed the body aside, staring at Narcissa. Narcissa stood in a crouch, the end of her wand still glowing green. The Prince of Snakes stared at the Princess of Vipers and lifted his chin.

"THE THRONE WAS ALWAYS MINE!" Narcissa roared. And then she took a step back, eyes wide. "But, it wasn't...it wasn't what I wanted."

She sounded unsure. She looked wild, strands of blonde hair flying everywhere. She looked ragged as if she had run through the Forest in the dead of night. Voldemort wondered if this was what true madness looked like.

"Then, what did you want?" he asked.

Narcissa bit her lower lip. "I only wanted to be your equal."

"Then...you have failed on two accounts."

And Voldemort turned his back on his sister—his personal monster, the monster that he had made with own two his hands—and ran towards the dragon. He mounted it, sitting just behind Harry. Harry let out a cry and Freia rose into the air and they flew.

Voldemort didn't look back.

 **OF**

The Western Bridge was always an impressive piece of infrastructure. Even after decades, Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw were still in awe of the great stone bridge that stretched across the Narrow Sea. The lights that lit up the way burned eternally and felt like a beacon towards home. With every step, Salazar and Rowena felt closer to Helga—closer to their home.

"We're nearly there," Rowena said, her voice gentle.

Salazar nodded, as they began to cross, slow and steady. His stomach churned with his anxiety. As they drew closer to Westeron, it only reminded Salazar that his daughter was there. His second youngest daughter, Andromeda, who he had not seen in years. He had never known Andromeda well, and that was one of the many regrets that kept him awake at night.

 _Did you even care where I had gone? Once upon a time, we were children. But, they have made us the monsters of their fairy stories._

Her words echoed in his dreams. Most nights, he dreamed of the night that his children had slaughtered his brother and sister. Godric and Helga had fallen dead under their might. They had slain Godric's wife without hesitation or pity. He dreamed about the blood.

Most of all, Salazar dreamed of his son's eyes. Betrayed and terrified. Betrayer and terrifying.

He dreamed of his son's eyes when they had asked him to do what they could not. He dreamed of his son's eyes when he had murdered their regime and had confessed to consuming Helena's heart.

"Rowena?" Salazar asked as they walked across the bridge.

"Yes, Sal?" Rowena asked as if she knew what he was going to ask. He didn't doubt that she did.

Salazar swallowed. "Am I to blame?"

"No," Rowena bit out.

It sounded like a lie.

They continued to walk in silence, eyes trained ahead. Salazar recounted his children's fated names: Tom Kingmaker, Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer, Andromeda Empath, and Narcissa Godkiller. He had four children for fate. Rowena had had one, and yet his children had taken her away. He couldn't understand how she could still bear to look at him.

Salazar jerked to a stop, his hand pressing against the heat at his side. Rowena's eyes widened as Salazar drew Godric's Sword. The blade was glowing, the same way it had when Salazar had known it was time. But, this time, it glowed even brighter. Slowly, Salazar lifted it above his head as it burned brighter and brighter.

The sun seemed to get brighter and brighter.

And then, a blast of white flames emerged from the Sword, swirling around them in greeting, tickling their cheeks. Everything was so bright, they felt like they might go blind.

Salazar stared in awe at the raw magic in the air. He had only felt it once before, a summer eighteen years ago when all the lights had died and been reborn.

Slowly, the flames receded and Godric's sword became just a sword again.

Rowena swallowed. "He's...he's _beautiful_ ," Rowena whispered.

And though they had not yet seen Lily's son, the Fairest, Salazar couldn't help but agree. Softly, he said, "He is."

 **THEM**

Neville shivered though he was one of the closest to the great fires in the middle of the barest part of Arcadia. His heart ached at such a large bonfire in his lush greenery, but it seemed like a necessity. There were still some recovering from the shock of the wedding. He looked over at his grandmother and Daphne. Daphne looked stone-faced, sitting on the ground next to their grandmother's chair. They hadn't been witness to the carnage, but they had heard it. They had heard it all.

Neville still heard his sister's words echo in his ear.

 _I will drown you._

He had never been more terrified of her. He knew that Daphne and his grandmother were both ruthless, but the extent of their vengeance knew no bounds.

Neville frowned, listening in on the growing debate. They all knew what was happening. A war had been brewing, but there was no pretending that it didn't exist any longer. It had begun and in their own country. Essetir. The rest of the empire would hear in hours. The world would hear in days.

Albion was at war again.

Neville shivered.

"The proper course is clear! We pledge fealty to the King Harry Wildfyre and ride to join him in Westeron. He is the true heir. He is the Prince of Gryffindor," Lord Bobbin declared. His heir, Melinda Bobbin, nodded in agreement, her eyes hard as she stood behind her father's shoulder.

There were grumblings of agreement.

"Harry Wildfyre is not the King!" another shouted and there were quiet agreements. "We know nothing about his claim. We have no proof of his parentage! Who would the father be?"

"It's clear: James Potter!"

"But, we don't know that for sure!"

"Then who would we declare for?" Augusta Longbottom cried out, her voice trembling with age but still strong. Everyone fell silent to the oldest of them. They looked at her with wide eyes, bowing to her wisdom already. "We cannot be alone in this. The Slytherins acknowledge Harry Wildfyre as an opponent. The empire is at war!"

There was a great swell of conversation again, all arguing to and at one another. Lady Arncliffe stepped forward and looked around, her eyes shrewd and narrowed. She caught Augusta's eye and the Lady of the great House Arncliffe nodded back. Augusta's lips twitched, but she was careful not to show her hand just yet.

"My Lord! My Ladies! Here is what I say to these two kings!" Lady Arncliffe shouted over the rest. Slowly, they quieted, turning to face her. She spat and the others were absolutely silent, then, staring at her. "Draco Slytherin is nothing to me, nor Harry Wildfyre neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some wretched seat? What do they know of the East and our mountains? Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again?"

She took a quick circuit around the bonfire, looking regal in her silvery robes, still stained red from the bloodbath just outside Rowena's haven.

"What are you saying?" Lord Desford began.

Lady Arncliffe's dark eyes narrowed. "I am saying that it was four we bowed to and now, those four are _dead_. There is only one King I mean to bend my knee to—the King in the East!" she roared, pointing.

All followed the line of her finger, staring at the young blonde man that stood next to Augusta, his face grim and ready.

Neville Longbottom didn't flinch from his destiny. He had known that this was the plan. He had known since he was a child. It had been _years_ since Augusta Longbottom had laid out their plan. They had never veered or strayed from their course of vengeance, only adjusted it as things had played out to their advantage.

"Me?" he asked.

Augusta's eyes cut over towards young Lord Belby. Lord Belby jumped up, nodding.

"You are of the Great House Longbottom. Once, your family was the only one to stand against the oppressive regime and they were slaughtered for it. But, as your family says...what is dead may never die. I would follow you and your blood, Neville Longbottom. The King in the East!" Lord Belby shouted, drawing his sword and falling to one knee before Neville.

Lady Arncliffe followed his example, drawing her wand and crossing it over her chest.

There was a long moment of uneasiness before old Lord Flitwick stepped forward. The Lords of the East looked to the eldest male of them, rivaling only Augusta in age. Slowly, Flitwick observed the Longbottoms for a long time. And then, he too pulled his wand and crossed it over his chest.

"I'll have peace on those terms. They can keep their bloody castle and their ugly chair too. The King in the East!" Lord Flitwick squeaked.

Like a sea, the Lords and Ladies and children of the Houses of the East pulled their swords, falling to one knee, pulling their wands and saluting Neville. Neville glanced back at Daphne. Daphne stared back at him, grim-faced.

"Am I your sister, now and always?" Daphne asked.

"Now and always," Neville said, immediately.

And so, Daphne stepped from behind him and rolled her shoulders back, falling to her knees before him. She took his hand in hers and brought them to her lips.

"The salt of the sea is yours in victory and defeat. The oceans and all under my family's domain swear their loyalty to you, from this day until your last," Daphne swore and they all felt the ground quiver beneath them. The saltwater rivers of Arcadia trembled in awe at her magical oath. And she roared, "The King in the East!"

"The King in the East! The King in the East! The King in the East! The King in the East!"

And the woman with pale eyes and even lighter hair watched the Essetireans rally around their new King from the shadows. She didn't need to ask the three others what they were thinking. She already knew. She always knew.

 _Is he the one?_

Pandora shook her head. "No. There is no King but the one called Wyrdfod."

 **ALL?**

Fleur and Gabrielle weaved their way through the streets, heads ducked low beneath the hoods of their cloaks. Gabrielle pressed closer to her sister's side as they passed their old dress shop. A man stood outside of it, speaking quietly to what looked like Republic officials. Gabrielle's fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword but she pressed on, refusing to stop for anything."

"To the docks," Fleur hissed softly and Gabrielle nodded.

She was almost thankful for the way the fog hung low from the rain earlier. She imagined that it probably disguised the scent of blood left in her...in the chateau. Her old chateau. Her husband's blood.

It was better not to dwell on it.

The two Veela women knew they were at the docks when the smell of fish and urine was too hard to ignore. Gabrielle raised part of her cloak over her nose, trying to block out the scent, but it was so strong that Gabrielle gagged. She swallowed the bile fighting to exit her body. Fleur quickly guided her through the fish sellers and towards one of larger ships.

The captain was speaking softly to a few crewmembers as they transported his cargo aboard.

"Sir, are you a merchant?" Fleur cried out, holding out her hand. Gabrielle stuck so closely to her, she might as well had been the woman's shadow.

The captain looked up, his lips curling into a sneer. "What's it to you?" he barked.

"We...we need to go somewhere. We can't stay here in the Republic. I'm willing to pay. I have money," Fleur said, frantically. She ripped the little burlap bag off from around her neck and searched through it with a shaking hand. She paused and swallowed. "Wrong one...that's our belongings. Sorry."

She went to search through her other burlap sack at her hip, but the captain seemed to have already lost interest.

"Lass, my crew is on a tight schedule and we don't do passenger trips. If you'll excuse me," he said scathingly. He turned around even as Fleur drew out a fistful of Galleons, holding them out to him.

Salt welled in Fleur's eyes as she grabbed the man's wrist with her other hand.

"We need safe passage!" Fleur begged. "To the City-States! Please...you can just...you can drop us off."

But, Gabrielle was frozen. Instead, she looked at the women that stood in the sea of the crowd. The women that everyone seemed to move around, parting like a sea. She couldn't make out all of their faces but, there was one. She stood at the forefront, next to a woman whose face was hidden by the shadow of her crimson hood. The woman she could see stepped forward, her pale eyes narrow and concentrated.

Gabrielle knew what they called her. Baba Yaga.

 _Come home,_ Baba Yaga said even as she didn't open her mouth. She held out her hand. _What do we say to the Stranger, Death? Come home and tell me the answer._

Gabrielle didn't have to ask where.

"No. We need to go to Albion," Gabrielle said, firmly, turning back to the man.

The captain's face screwed into a bigger sneer.

"We won't be taking two lasses—"

"What do we say to the Stranger, Death?" Gabrielle asked. The man froze, looking at Gabrielle as if he had never seen anything quite like her. Gabrielle stepped forward, her lips curling into a grimace. "I know what you are, sir."

"You don't know shit, lass," the captain snarled.

"You are a werewolf," Gabrielle barked. "And _I_ am Gabrielle Greyback, Alpha of Laug. You will take me home. You will take me to Albion. So, tell me, your Alpha, _what_ do we say to the Stranger, Death?"

She held out her hand and waited for the captain to slowly tilt his head in submission. Gabrielle grabbed him by the neck and squeezed once, waiting for her answer.

"Not today," he rasped. "You shall have...a cabin."

Gabrielle squeezed again before she grabbed Fleur's hand and tugged her past the man, stomping up the stairs. The crewmembers startled as she dragged Fleur onto the deck of the boat. The captain staggered up the stairs after her, muttering quietly to the others trying to beg a ride on the boat. They fell back reluctantly and the captain turned back to address the crewmembers.

"Are they all like you?" Gabrielle asked.

The captain swallowed hard. "Yes. It's hard for our _types_ to have gainful employment," he said, his lips curling sourly.

Gabrielle nodded and threw off her hood. The crewmembers gasped as they took in the strange Veela one. Gabrielle wondered if some of the sharp edges of her body had softened now that the rage was somewhat quelled.

"We should go," Gabrielle said, looking over her shoulder at the docks. The Republic officials were getting closer, quietly questioning the crowds.

"Yes, Alpha," the captain murmured softly before he turned to his crew and began to shout orders. Slowly, the colors were hoisted and everyone began to work around them, pulling ropes and getting ready for the ship to be off. Gabrielle followed the captain towards the wheel, Fleur close behind. "Where do you want to go, Alpha?"

"Velothi, Essetir," Gabrielle said firmly.

It was only a few moments and then they were off, the waves slowly crashing against the wooden ship as they drifted away from the port. Gabrielle looked at Fleur. Fleur was staring back at their homeland in wonder, swallowing as the farther they sailed away from the port, the faster the boat became. Gabrielle could feel the magic thrumming in the wood if she ran her fingers over the boat. It was wonderful.

It nearly made her smile.

"I'm not sorry that we're leaving," Fleur said, finally turning back to look at her younger sister. "But, why Albion? There's a war."

Gabrielle frowned. "Because...I have a feeling."

And that was all she said before she walked towards the edge of the boat and closed her eyes, feeling the saltwater air sting her eyes. She felt _alive_.

She glanced back one more time.

The Laug Republic was disappearing. Her husband, her pack, her life was gone, shed off like ill-fitting clothing.

The young Veela hoisted herself up onto the edge of the ship.

"Lass!" shouted one crewmember but Gabrielle ignored him.

Gabrielle stood on the edge of the ship, perfectly balanced as she watched ahead, staring only at the open sea, the churning waves. The bright light of the day. She could feel Fleur's eyes on her back so, Gabrielle walked along the edge, ignoring the stares of wonder. She walked with such certainty until she stood on the prow of the ship. Gabrielle opened up her arms and closed her eyes, letting it all rush at her.

A girl would not fall. Gabrielle Greyback would never fall.

 _Never_ again.

:::

 **A/N:** I know I said Thursday, but it was finished. And I though that I could just upload the Interlude tomorrow and really have this entire arc wrapped up. This was definitely some of the most fun I've ever had writing a chapter. I had a whole music playlist that corresponded with each section and it was just great fun. I really hoped you enjoyed it and I would really appreciate your comments. This was a hard one to get out because so much was happening at the same time.

Anyway, until tomorrow!


	31. Interlude II

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

 **Fairest**

Interlude II

It did not rain, like the day after that first battle. It was bright. The blue sky was clear of any rolling white clouds. The sun beat down harshly. The seas were calm, sloshing comfortably against the white cliffs of Westeron.

Harry prepared their pyre himself.

Their bodies were swathed in the shimmering fabric that Andromeda had given him, a solemn expression on her face. She had quietly taken him through the rites. She had asked if he needed help. He rejected it. Instead, he sat quietly, weaving nasturtium and cherry blossoms into McGonagall's shroud. Edelweiss and hyacinth for Hagrid. The bright purple of morning glories showered atop their expressions to hide their still faces.

They all watched him as Harry methodically worked, honoring the dead, chanting soft words in the ancient language, mixed with the prayers. He didn't cry. They had cried—when he had returned with their bodies close at hand. There had been a great wail through the entire camp for all of those lost ones—the ones that had been retrieved and the ones that couldn't. Harry hadn't been able to look at the new orphans. He hadn't been able to look at the widows and widowers, the elderly that had outlived their children.

Harry didn't cry.

"Why won't he cry?" Tonks whispered, her brow furrowed in confusion. She wrapped her arms around her middle, keeping a careful eye on Harry and the girl, that _girl_ , Hermione, that stood close to Barty Crouch Jr. and Luna Lovegood. The girl that looked like Pandora.

Voldemort lifted his chin. "Albion doesn't cry."

Harry stood from his kneeling position and he took a step back, observing them. They would go in a shower of flowers and flames. There was no need for a true pyre.

"Your Grace, we can—" Bill began, stepping forward. Before Harry could shake his head, Ginny grabbed her oldest brother's wrist and tugged him back. Ron buried his face in Charlie's shoulder, trembling with suppressed sobs.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Shall I pray?" Harry called, his voice nearly a whisper. No one responded. Harry turned to look at them all, his bright eyes clear. "Who will pray with me?"

His voice was nearly a shout.

"I will pray, Wyrdfod."

He turned towards the girl that had spoken. She stepped out from underneath Rodolphus Lestrange's arm. Tonks stiffened when she looked at her, but the girl had no eyes for Tonks. She walked towards Harry, unafraid and unabashed.

"Good," Harry said, roughly. "What is your name?"

"I am Luna Lovegood, Wyrdfod," the girl said as she reached him and slowly she raised her hand to his chin and tilted his head one way. Harry moved with her, never breaking eye contact. "Shall we begin?"

"Aye," Harry said, gruffly. He turned back to the two bodies and slowly lifted his wand, drawing it in a slow circle as he walked around the two. Quietly, he intoned, "Blessed by the Seven, may you be brought peace in your death."

A flash of white erupted from his wand, a sacred bond. Luna walked in counterpoint to him, their paths crossing.

"Favoured by the Gods, may you have the everlasting rest in the bosom of Hbina, defending the seat of the Gods' power. By the judgment of the Father, in one hand be wisdom. In the milk of the Mother, may you be granted everlasting life. In the blood of the Maiden, may your sacrifice be a sacred vow for the innocent," Luna called and flashes of light erupted from her strange pale wand and she nodded over at Harry.

"By the strength of the Warrior, may you defend the seat of the duty given in life. By the hearth of the Smith, you shall be unmade as you were made. On this day, may the Stranger deliver your soul to your final resting place. In memory, you shall not be forsaken," Harry breathed, trembling as the light shot out of his wand. He glanced over at Luna and she seemed to be staring at him. "Blood is Fate, blood is death. Blood is...blood _is…_ "

"Only you may finish this, Wyrdfod," Luna murmured.

Harry cleared his throat and nodded. "Blood is all. So mote it be."

The white lights all seemed to converge on the two shrouded bodies and burst into white flames, licking it all away. Harry staggered backward, never looking away until his back hit a broad chest and two heavy hands settled on his shoulders. He didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"So mote it be," Tom rumbled from behind her as the other repeated his words. Harry pulled away from Tom, his eyes blinded by unshed tears.

"You…" Harry rasped. "You _people_ take _everything_ from me."

The dangerous snarl seemed to surprise Tom.

"What?" he murmured.

"You...your _family_ took _everything_ from me. You took _everything_ from me!" Harry roared, shoving Tom away from him and he staggered away, keeping his hand over his eyes. "You take everything and won't give me _anything_ back!"

"Harry…" Tom whispered.

Harry threw his hand down and shook his head. "I can't...I can't _look_ at you. She looks just like you. And you...you will see their broken bodies, wrapped in _my_ banner, and they will be buried in shame. I condemn your blood. This I swear to you, Tom Marvolo Slytherin."

Tom took a step back, lifting his chin, his eyes shuttering. Only Voldemort stared back at Harry, and Harry trembled.

"Do you want me to go?" Voldemort asked, his voice cold.

"No. You will not go anywhere. You have sworn yourself to me in perpetuity. I have given everything to you, for you. No, I don't want you to go. You are a _tragedy_ ," Harry growled. "But, you are _my_ tragedy."

"Harry," Voldemort said.

Harry deflated suddenly and he looked up at Voldemort with a terribly sad, broken look on his face.

Softly, he said, "My love...it won't ever be enough."

He turned away, staggering away from the white fire, and the people that watched them. So many people. He expected Tom or Tonks to follow him to the cliff's edge but, when he turned, he only saw the girl.

The little blonde woman.

Luna Lovegood.

"Who are you?" Harry groaned.

Luna's lips quirked into a smile. "Luna Lovegood. I told you, Wyrdfod."

"You call me Wyrdfod. You aren't just a normal witch, are you?" Harry sighed and his only answer was Luna's quiet little smile.

"You love him a great deal, Wyrdfod. He loves you too. More than he knows," Luna said, quietly and Harry scoffed, shaking his head.

"What do you know of the Dark Lord's feelings? Or lack thereof," he snarled, angry. Luna didn't seem to mind his seething.

"It matters not. You spoke of your intention to murder the Dark Lord's family. You condemned him. You have started a war that is too large for its current board. This is of global attention, I suspect. Global consequences. You could concede now and spare many of your men or you could _possibly_ win a war. What would you choose?" Luna asked.

Harry regarded the woman for a long minute and he took a step closer, something familiar about her grey eyes as if he'd seen it in a dream.

"You are...are you a Seer, Luna Lovegood?" he asked.

Luna didn't answer immediately. "No," she said decidedly. "I just know holiness when I see it, Wyrdfod. Your rage will lead to a great many things. War—the bloodiest Albion will ever see. But, your submission will grant mercy to those that might not deserve it, and then all shall be lost."

"The Slytherins," Harry said. He didn't need to be told. Luna looked at him hesitantly, and slowly nodded.

"So. Your choices are clear. Wyrdfod, tell me…what will you choose? Mercy or violence?" Luna murmured, softly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He looked around. He glanced at the burning pyre. The weeping Weasley family. His diminished troops. His broken family. His _pride._

Harry knew what he chose.

"I choose violence."

:::

 **A/N:** And here we are. At the end of ARC TWO: Cinders. It was a long journey and we've finally arrived to the point where I wanted Harry to be at. Here he is, bold and full of rage. He is ready for a war, and the boy is dead.

Now, I probably won't update the next part for a while for a number of reasons:

1\. I'd like to organize my outline so that I have the next few chapters at least half-written.

2\. I have finals coming up so I just won't be able to give Fairest the time and attention it deserves.

3\. I want to write a little more for my other fic that went up _Diagnosis._

So, see you soon for ARC THREE: Grymmyr.

Hope you review!


	32. Epigraph III

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, here the final arc begins.

 _ **epigraph iii**_

 _"That's how you get deathless,_ volchitsa _._

 _Walk the same tale over and over,_

 _until you wear a groove in the world,_

 _until even if you vanished,_

 _the tale would keep turning,_

 _keep playing, like a phonograph, and_

 _you'd have to get up again,_

 _even with a bullet through your eye,_

 _to play your part and say your lines."_

 **-Catherynne M. Valente,** ** _Deathless_**


	33. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, here the final arc begins.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 _The Seven._

 _Father walked amongst the burning fields, spitting bay leaves of glory and a crown of amaryllis bulbs in his hair. He wept tears of blood. Mother trailed lines of silk, tying her to a loom, crucifying her. And she mourned for another. The Maiden spat rage. Crone brewed chamomile and poured it on the Father's feet, blistering his skin where the fire did not._

 _The Warrior and the Smith circled one another-one the sword, the other anvil. Rage. Rage._

 _But, it was the last that she watched._

 _The last stood alone._

 _The Stranger walked around a pyre of daffodils and lilies and irises. She kissed the ashes on the ground, dragging her red cloak through the dirt, lining blood wherever she stepped. The Stranger looked up and looked her in the eye and lifted her hand._

How do you become _DEATHLESS?_

 _The Seven turned to her and asked and the pyre erupted in flames. The Stranger's mouth wasn't moving, but she heard it anyways. She heard the words._

Inwi echad-Guri. Inwi cawd.

 _But, the Stranger didn't look at her. The Stranger was staring through her._

 _And she spun around, her eyes wide as she saw the one the Stranger spoke. The Mother was behind her now except different. The Mother looked different. But, it was the girl. The girl that stood beside the Mother, cloaked in white and savage in pelts._

Inwi echad-Guri.

 _The girl_ screamed.

 _And the Crone was there, like air, spinning her around. The Crone took her by her face and laid kisses on her cheeks as her mother did when she was a girl._

This is what it means, Ainu. This is what it means.

 _The Crone-MOTHER-disappeared and she screamed as the pyre enveloped her, sending her far away. It hurt. It_ hurt _._

 _The salt burned her eyes._ Ainu.

 _The fire burned her tongue._ Ainu.

 _The earth overcame her-Mother-burying her alive._ Ainu.

 _And then there were three, sitting at the spinning wheel, whispering a curse into the air. Water, Fire, and Earth spread a curse across a land, drowning golden thread in blood while the world guessed His name. What was His name?_

 _Hermione's voice._ The Wyrdfod. What is that?

 _NOT Fateborn. Not FAIREST._

 _And Death breathed a mist across the land, sealed by blood._

What does it mean to be _DEATHLESS?_

 _Mother's voice. Mother screamed in her ear. Not the Mother, but_ her _Mother._

 _By fairest blood-_

 _ENOUGH._

"Mother."

Luna gasped, sweat making her nightgown sheer. Rodolphus jerked awake, turning over to look at her, his eye alert.

"Luna?" Rodolphus whispered. "What is it?"

Luna slowly closed her eyes, shaking her head.

"My mother... _lives._ "

 **MIRROR**

The thirteen sat at the long table, all staring at one another with heavily guarded expressions. They all looked across the table at one another all but for the woman that headed the table of power.

Madame President Seraphina Picquery leaned back in her chair, slicking back a stray piece of platinum blonde hair under her head wrap. She squeezed her long staff. The staff was sectioned into thirteen pieces, each a different material ranging from mahogany to oak to silver to onyx. Atop the staff was an orb, as golden as the beating sunbeams that streamed through the open windows.

She glanced down at the letter once more.

 _To Madame Seraphina Picquery, President of the United City-States of Freedom, and Her Distinguished Congress,_

 _As you may have heard, I have declared war upon the Usurpers known as the Slytherins-those that have stolen a throne and built it on the blood and bones of my ancestral grandfather and his magical kin. I am prepared to wage and win this war but have found that with 30,000 men, I still cannot quite achieve my goals with my lack of fleet._

 _The problem is manageable. The strength of the fleet of the United City-States is famed throughout the world, and I would like to negotiate my use of it. You had once abandoned this empire in its time of war when you fled from the Tabooed and my grandfather who would save you. I shan't allow it again._

 _I am coming._

 _Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, the Wyrdfod, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, Lord of Afallon, Lord of Karnaron, and the Fairest-of-Them-All_

And set beside it was the gift. A single dragon scale, burning hot as if it were alive.

"He comes to claim this land as if it were his own," Theodard Fontaine snarled. The older man ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, making the curls frizz out even more in the blistering heat.

"Of course, he will come. He believes that he can conquer us. We shall prove him false," Charity Wilkinson growled out, her teeth bared.

There were grumblings of approval from some of the other Congress members. But, Seraphina Picquery only had eyes for the letter and the dragon scale that had accompanied it. She hummed quietly to herself, and then lifted her chin to look at her right-hand man. Percival Graves stared back at her, waiting patiently.

"He calls himself 'Wyrdfod'. And the dragon scale is warm," Seraphina repeated. She looked at the witch and wizard standing just behind Graves' seat. "What does that mean, Scamander?"

Newt Scamander jumped, his red hair flopping into his eyes. He looked everywhere but in her eyes but, she didn't expect him to look her in the eye anyway. Newt was a skittish man who had problems maintaining eye contact. It didn't matter as long as he did his job.

"The dragon scale is warm. That means...its come from a living dragon," Newt said, his eyes alight with awe and worry.

The entire table erupted in shouts and irritated disagreements. Porpentina Goldstein grimaced at the noise, cringing.

"It's a warning then," Graves said, speaking into the din. The others governors fell silent around him, all turning their grudging attention towards him. "He is letting us know what he has in his arsenal. A living, breathing dragon. We heard the rumors. Now, we know them to be true."

"And if that's true, the Dark Lord must also be on his side," Robert Grimsditch said with a quiet grimace.

There was a long moment of meditation over that.

"The Fairest of Them All," Picquery murmured, breathing the title. She leaned back in her chair, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose as she considered it all.

They had been citizens of the Albion Empire at one point. The 'Fairest' had not been wrong on that. They had fled. Cowardice or survival, it didn't matter. Picquery knew that if they had lived their natural lives, it wouldn't have been her that had to deal with all of it. But, it was her job. Pandora had taken away nearly a hundred years of the lives. Now, the consequences rolled and she would not flinch away from them.

"You will _not_ bend the knee. We won't," Carlos Lopez barked.

"And if he threatens to raze us to the ground?" Bethilde Roche asked, always so very cautious.

Suddenly, they all turned to look at Seraphina. She didn't quiver under their gaze. Instead, she lifted the dragon scale to her eye and turned it over, examining it. It didn't burn, but it was warm. She cleared her throat, her lips curling into a terrible grimace.

"Let him come."

 **MIRROR**

He barely reacted to the tight wet heat around his cock as he stared into the flames, tasting the tartness of wine on his tongue. He looked down at her, his eyes narrowed at her as if she were alien. She looked up at him with bright sea glass eyes, tears leaking down her cheeks.

Draco's lips curled into a sneer and he drained the goblet, slamming it down on the side table. Slowly, he knotted his hair into her wet blonde hair, twisting it above her head and thrusting into her mouth. She moaned around his cock as he battered the entrance of her throat and he winced, wondering what it would be like to feel bile around his cock. He yanked her off and she gasped, massaging her neck as she wretched.

"Back on my cock," he sneered, tugging her forward again. "Lick."

Like a dog, she lapped at the veiny shaft, eager to please and he finally lost himself in it. She had always been decent at sucking cock, though he would enjoy tearing her apart under him more. Her wide mouth wrapped around his cock, sucking the purple length with a moan as if she were getting off from just worshipping him. He thrust harder and she gagged.

Daphne Greengrass was lovely when she gagged.

He moaned softly, placing his other hand on the other side of his head, guiding her head up and down his cock. He groaned when he felt her teeth scrape against the sensitive flesh, hurting in just the right ways. She was weeping while she sucked; pleasure or pain, Draco had never cared. Daphne had always been prone to her greens and greys, but he thought she'd look beautiful in red.

"You like that?" he hissed as he thrust once, hard, battering her throat open. She cried out around his cock, her cheeks red with the force of her tears.

He pushed her away and she fell back, spittle trailing down her chin, and she fell over, gasping for breath, her face pressed against the soft furs in front of the fireplace. Draco tilted his head back and reveled in the sound of her labored breathing.

When he looked at her again, Hermione Granger stared back, baleful and defiant.

She stood up, stumbling against the wall, dragging herself upwards. He stared at the back of her, her back, where her shoulder blades nearly cut through the bruised skin. The flat ass. Her thin, bird-like thighs. He could snap her in half. Her curls fell limp around her head as she gasped, attempting to walk towards the door.

"Draco…" she whimpered, looking over her shoulder. "W-won't you hurt me?"

Draco sneered, standing up and storming towards her. He knotted his fingers in the ragged curls, yanking her back. She gasped, falling back against him as he grabbed her by her chin, so tight that his fingerprints were painted purple on her skin. She looked at him, her eyes wide and sad. He _hated_ it. He hated her. He wanted her to _hurt_.

His fist collided with her mouth and she gasped, falling back against the stone. He hoped that she bruised. He hoped that she _bled._

Her bottom lip was split from the force of the hit. Blood trickled down the soft swell of her lip, down the skin of her chin. Draco leaned forward and licked it up to her lips. He reveled in the taste of iron, and he pressed their lips together, tasting himself on her tongue. She whimpered, wrapping her arm around his neck, pressing her naked body to his clothed one. Draco lost himself in the taste of blood on the back of his tongue, staggering back to the bed, his hands tight on her middle-tight enough to bruise.

When the back of her knees pressed against the edge of the bed, he pushed her back and gasped, softly to himself.

So beautiful.

The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Slowly, Draco wrapped his hand around his cock, jerking it gently as he stared down at Harry Wildfyre.

Harry Wildfyre stared up at him with a delicate sneer, his green eyes smoldering with rage. Slowly, he crawled backward, pulling his knees to his chest, staring at them at Draco. Draco swallowed, his mouth dry.

"I want to break you," he whispered like a promise.

Harry Wildfyre didn't say anything. Instead, he shook his head, watching with the judgment of all the gods. Draco slowly crawled onto the bed and he felt something crack in his chest. Something terrible and red that leaked evil into his belly. He wanted to break him. He wanted to possess the Fairest. Draco wanted to crack open his ribs and burrow himself between the Fairest's lungs, where his heart should be. He wanted to eat him from the inside out while he fucked the life out of him.

He wanted to _choke_ the life out of him.

Draco bared his teeth, reaching forward and grabbing the Fairest by his ankles. Harry Wildfyre gasped, attempting to jerk away as he was dragged towards Draco's body. He tried to twist out of the way, scrambling past Draco, but Draco grabbed him by the back of his neck, shoving his face down into the bedspread. Draco grabbed the Fairest by the hip with one hand and thrust in with one messy move.

The Fairest _screamed._

"Gods have mercy on you," Draco snarled into his ear as he thrust hard once, feeling wetness around his cock. He wasn't sure if the Fairest heard it over his own weeping. _Gods have mercy on me._ "I will burn. You will burn. We will all burn."

Draco threw his head back, grabbing at the Fairest's hips, fucking into the limp body beneath him. The Fairest twisted under him and Draco stared at the smooth lines of that pale back, unmarked. Draco would mark him. Draco would _hurt_ him, the way he hurt. Draco felt like he couldn't breathe.

The King reached forward, wrapping his hands around the Fairest's neck, jerking him up until he was on all fours, choking and spitting as Draco's hands crushed bruises into his neck, into his windpipe. Draco closed his eyes. They stung. There was wetness on his cheeks. He was crying. Why was he crying?

 _Why was he crying_?

He opened his eyes again and saw only dark wavy hair and a curvy body. _Pansy._

He let go of her neck and felt her spitting and choking under him, weeping softly. Draco fell away from her, letting out a terrifying sob as she rolled over, gasping for air, her chest rising and falling in quick succession. Her eyes were glassy as she raised trembling fingers to her neck, massaging the bruises that he had put there. _Pansy._

"D-Dr-" she rasped.

Draco screamed, falling into the pillows, trembling with terror. Pansy sat up, crawling towards him. Her body trembled with her aches and hurt, but she curled up behind him, wrapping her arms around him as he screamed. She looked over his body towards the shadow of the doorway, straight into pinprick blue eyes. Pansy nodded once.

Narcissa didn't nod back. She drifted backward, waving her wand so that it shut as quietly as possible. Narcissa stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring off into nothingness. She gathered herself, taking a deep shuddering breath, shutting her eyes.

Her poor, mad boy.

Narcissa allowed herself a single sob. And then, she gathered herself, as controlled as ever. Slowly, she walked through the deathly silent castle, ignoring each and every servant that quivered before her, lowering themselves to the ground in reverence. Her skirts dragged after her as she descended the steps. They parted just so with every step, revealing brown leathers and the chainmail she wore on her shoulders clinked.

She walked right past the Great Room and through the front doors. Crouch and Dolohov assumed their positions at her side as they looked at the ruins of Rowena's haven. The statue garden had been reduced to rubble, but for the statue of Helena-the irony was not lost on Narcissa. The stench was what really caught most of Narcissa's attention.

Broken bodies littered the battlefield, some crushed, others whole, and some reduced to nothing but gore. The smell of blood and death would linger for years, crushed into the dirt. And smoke. Narcissa watched as the remaining soldiers levitated bodies atop one another and set them alight, burning them into ashes.

"How many have we lost?" Narcissa asked.

"We...haven't finished counting," Dolohov said, quietly.

Narcissa's teeth clenched. "How many did they lose?"

"Just as many," Crouch promised.

Narcissa didn't scoff. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of ash.

 _F_ _ÜIR!_

 _Flames._

She opened her eyes again. Dolohov and Crouch stared at her.

 _Dear sister, I never claimed to love you._

"What have you done with Zabini's body?" Narcissa asked, coldly.

"We have prepared it to be sent back to the Republic. But, who should the condolences come from? It would typically be...the Chancellor," Crouch said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Narcissa's eyes narrowed and she turned away from the burning of the bodies and lifted her chin.

" _I'm_ Lady Chancellor now."

 **ON THE WALL**

"A-a single ship is too little. It's not s-s-safe," Sirius stammered. He rolled his eyes at his own stutter, but Remus was happy to see that he didn't seem as frustrated with himself anymore.

"You think he can't defend himself? He knows war now, Sirius," Remus pointed out.

Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but Regulus shook his head.

"Remus is right. And he has the Dark Lord, Tonks, the Lestranges, Snape, Ginny, and Ron going with him. And, well, Freia," Regulus said. He sighed, crossing his arms. "Do you think he'll...fly Freia?"

The three stood in meditative silence, thinking to the day that they had returned from war. Sirius had been waiting at Regulus and Andromeda's sides. They had come back in bits and pieces. Fred and George had been one of the first, clutching onto bodies-McGonagall and Hagrid's. George's ear was gone, a gaping red wound, but they were whole. Immediately, they had been whisked away while Regulus went to take care of the bodies.

Sirius had gone ballistic, demanding to know who was dead.

All Fred had said was... _He can fly._

Sirius hadn't had time to process any of that as the rest began to return, in groups. He had been horrified to see how many _didn't_ return. And those that did return had bodies slung on their backs, most wounded, some dead. There was a great cry, and the entire city surrounding Westeron seemed to be too shocked to mourn just yet. Regulus had returned and every time Sirius had asked after Harry or Remus or even Tonks, they had shaken their heads.

The Lestranges returned next with Barty Crouch Jr. and a young blonde woman covered in dirt and blood. She clung to Rodolphus and he carried her into Westeron without another word. Barty had asked after a girl-the girl, Hermione-but, no one had seen her return. He decided to wait with the Death Eaters.

After that, it was all a waiting game. Hours passed and people trickled in, reporting those lost and those found-at least, those that they knew-to Regulus, Percy, and a small team of others. Percy had been on edge until all of his brothers returned.

Ron and Ginny had returned next, with a girl between them. She had been covered in blood from crown to toe, her entire dress soaked red and brown. Her eyes were wide and her hair was matted, but she looked unafraid. Barty had collided with her, wrapping his arms around her. Her arms had hung limply at her side and she was staring at the doorway. The young blonde woman held out her hands and the girl-Hermione Granger-rushed at her and sobbed, allowing Crouch Jr and the woman to guide her inside.

" _Where's Harry?"_ Sirius had demanded.

Ron had looked at him, shellshocked and whispered, " _He's coming. Right behind us."_

And then, there had been a great screech through the air. Sirius looked up as Freia crossed in front of the sun, creating a massive shadow as she circled Westeron, a blaze of white fire trailing after her wings. It had been one of the most beautiful things Sirius had seen in his life, and he watched as she landed in front of Westeron.

And Harry sat astride her back, Voldemort behind him, clutching at his waist. Everyone had fallen silent, watching as Harry dismounted his great dragon, white fire clinging to him as he staggered forward, a gap in his top teeth, blood spilling from a wound on his forehead.

Before Sirius could rush towards him, there had been a crack, and Remus and Tonks had appeared. Sirius had grabbed at Remus, holding him tight as Harry stumbled up to Tonks and raised a bloody hand to her cheek, leaving a red handprint.

Tonks had stared back at him and cupped his face.

" _You are the sun,_ " she had whispered.

And he had whispered back, " _I am the Light._ "

Sirius shivered at the memory, shaking it away from his mind. Even now, the image of Harry wrapped in white flames terrified him. The look in his eyes had been a look that Sirius had never wanted there-he had seen death and it had not scared him. Sirius didn't want to think about the type of person that Harry was that he didn't fear death.

"He might fly Freia," Remus allowed. "I can't believe...that's a thing. Huh."

"It's a thing," Sirius repeated, his voice soft. Both Regulus and Remus looked at him strangely and Sirius forced a smile on his face. "The Alfheimeans arrive while he'll be away."

"Cedric will be here to get them in order. He's still...mourning. He lost an Adored One," Regulus said apologetically.

Sirius nodded. "I offered my condolences, and he accepted them. But...the others...they only said it was war and that Michael Corner knew what he was getting into. But, they're all children. They couldn't possibly-"

"No, Sirius. None of them are children," Remus corrected. Sirius looked at him in surprise and Remus smiled sadly. "I thought the same, once. I treated Harry...with a certain level of disrespect as if he were a child. It was a mistake. One I won't ever make again. They are not children."

"You're right," Sirius admitted.

Regulus hummed. "Though I loathe saying this...the Dark Lord won't let anything happen to Harry. He betrayed his own kin. He abandoned them. Fought against them. He chose his side," Regulus said, though grudgingly and Sirius frowned, nodding slowly.

Their cousin was a piece of shit, but he was a piece of shit that had chosen the right side. For once.

"You know why."

All three looked up at the limping man that approached. Sirius looked Mad-Eye Moody over. Old Mad-Eye didn't look much different from before Sirius' stint in Azkaban. More grizzled and grey, with a few more chunks missing out of him, but he was a tough old man. Age wouldn't do to him what all the Dark wizards couldn't.

"Alastor," Remus warned.

Mad-Eye scoffed, shaking his head. He looked up at the ship, his eyes narrowed.

"Not too big. I imagine there is only one set of private quarters. The rest will have to share the crew's quarters," Mad-Eye growled out. He turned his whizzing blue eye onto Sirius, zeroing in on him specifically. "Can't imagine the Dark Lord will happy about that, can you?"

"No. I...I didn't think about that," Sirius said, his brow furrowing. He turned to Remus and Regulus, but they were steadily not looking at him. "W-what is it?"

Mad-Eye pretended he hadn't heard him. "Well, it won't be a problem, aye? It's not as if the Dark Lord makes use of his own rooms here."

"W-where does he sleep?" Sirius asked. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

"The King likes to keep him close," Mad-Eye said, shortly, before he turned towards where a grey McKinnon and Vance waited. Vance was scarred now, a terribly angry red puckered mark that trailed across her neck from where a knife had almost slit her throat open. She was no longer hesitant or shaky, having learned her lesson. "I have work to do. Troops to train."

Sirius watched Mad-Eye limp off and he turned back to Remus and Regulus.

"What was he talking about? H-Harry lets him sleep in his _room_?" Sirius demanded.

Regulus swallowed. "Well...not lately, at least. After...the funeral, Harry has taken to not sleeping in the room. I don't actually know where he sleeps."

"In Tonks' bed," Remus supplied helpfully.

"And you're okay with that?" Sirius asked, surprised.

Remus hummed. "I...well, it's not going to be my problem."

"They're awfully close," Sirius teased and Remus shook his head.

"I'm not the one that would have a problem with it. Harry's mourning. He needs her. She needs him," he said, shortly, ending the conversation effectively.

Sirius sobered quickly, looking down away. Far down by the cliffs was a burgeoning garden, bulbs planted for all the lives lost. Harry liked to walk it sometimes, with some of the orphan children tottering after him. He very rarely spoke directly to them, instead choosing to listen to their childish babble instead. It was one of the few things that had made him smile since Minerva's death.

"He...he knows that she was old right? That s-s-she had fought long and h-h-hard and knew it was war. H-he knows it wasn't h-his fault. H-he knows, right?" Sirius asked, softly. Harry took so much on his shoulders. Sirius had known him for a short time, but he knew _that_.

Regulus frowned, shaking his head. "I don't think he does."

 **WHO IS**

Hermione shivered in the dress that had been given to her by a passing servant. It was simple like her dresses in the Republic, and she felt more at home than she had in a long while, but it wasn't exactly practical. Westeron Castle was unreasonably cold despite the end of summer fast approaching. Hermione turned to Luna. The young woman was staring out of the window, a curious look on her face.

"Luna?" Hermione asked.

Luna turned to look at her sharply. "It's coming so fast. The end is close," Luna whispered.

She sounded terrified.

"How do you know?" Hermione asked, joining her friend by the window.

She swallowed when she saw who Luna was watching. Harry Wildfyre was sparring. He fought three Weasleys at once-the man that had saved her was called Ron, the girl Ginny, and their eldest brother, Bill. The Dark Lord stood afar shouting at Harry. Harry didn't seem to be paying attention, only swinging his sword and snarling as he beat them all back, fighting as if he were still in the middle of battle.

Hermione had so many questions. She had never had more questions. Except, now she was almost too afraid to ask about them. Everything felt ominous as if her world teetered on the edge of a knife. She regretted asking Luna 'how'.

"I had a dream," Luna said. She closed her eyes. "About the Seven. About priestesses and Death. About my mother."

"Luna…I'm tired of people speaking in circles. Speak plainly," Hermione rasped.

Luna's eyes narrowed. "I don't really know how," she admitted. "There are the Dtrwies, but there are four more-as you know. You heard my prayers."

"I know about the Seven. My father prayed to them. Father, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Smith, Warrior, and the Stranger, Death," Hermione rattled off. Even so many years later, she could recall the lilt of her father's voice as he prayed to the Father for guidance.

"My mother is alive," Luna said, softly.

Hermione's eyes widened and then softened. "Luna...that's great."

"Is it?" Luna whispered, softly. "My mother is alive, but she abandoned me, as a child, and went to find the Red Woman. Tonks. And my mother came to me in a dream and called me Ainu."

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked.

"Holy One. Priestess," Luna said quietly. And it all made sense. So much sense that it made Luna's head spin. She took a deep breath, mulling over the new information in her head. "I've always been different. I'm not a Seer. Not even close. But, I've been able to see things and hear things and experience them. And my mother was a _powerful_ witch. One of the most powerful witches. And a witch of fire. And the Wyrdfod is here."

"The Wyrdfod…" Hermione murmured, thinking again of the man that she had hardly seen since the battle. She hadn't known who that ask about that. She hadn't even seen Andromeda yet.

"I will have to go with him," Luna murmured.

Hermione blanched. "W-what? Why?"

"They are going to the City-States. My homeland. I know the way. And if I am Ainu...I must crown him with ashes," Luna said, quietly. "It is how it is done. I will ask the centaurs. They read the stars. They will know for sure."

"You still haven't told me what 'Ainu' means and why you must go? It's not fair! The Dark Lord knows the way!" Hermione protested.

Luna's eyes flash. "I want to go. I want to see my home again," she snapped. Hermione cringed back, looking down with shame. Luna's eyes softened just so. "If you could go home, wouldn't you?"

Hermione didn't have an answer. She would've liked to say yes, but she knew that would be somewhat of a lie. She didn't have a home anymore. Her father and mother were dead. She had slain her step-brother, and she knew that her stepmother would know. Her stepmother would murder her if she ever showed up at her own ancestral home. Hermione didn't have a home, just like all the other refugees that had sought safety at Westeron.

"I'm sorry. I'm being insensitive," Hermione said, awkwardly.

Luna nodded her forgiveness.

"Water, Fire, and Earth. And Death is like the air, whistling in your ear but you cannot see. There are three Ainu. Everything important comes in threes, Hermione. Three hearts. Three Ainu. Three Seers. And the four is always Death. _Always_ ," Luna said, firmly. And then she hesitated. "Unless...you are Death _less_ , but that is neither here nor there."

Hermione nodded in understanding.

"Who are the others?" she asked, softly.

Luna swallowed. "I do not know, but my mother...my _mother_ is coming."

Hermione stared at Luna. Luna had rarely spoken of her mother. And she had always seemed like a healthy balance between grief-stricken and happy. But, now, Luna looked terrified.

"Why are you afraid?" Hermione asked.

Luna swallowed, looking down at her lap. "Because my mother is not like you and me. She cannot feel like us. She is power sewn to bones, and if she is sending me dreams...that means she's coming back. My mother never comes back. It's not in her nature. So...it is concerning that she's coming. I want to know _why._ "

 **FAIREST**

Gabrielle sat on their bed as Fleur walked around her spinning wheel, examining it for something that Gabrielle couldn't see. Fleur reached to the side, grabbing the short stool and settling it next to the wheel. She looked through the spokes at Gabrielle, utterly silent for a moment.

"What?" Gabrielle asked.

Fleur shook her head. "Nothing."

Gabrielle didn't believe her for a second.

"You're worried," Gabrielle said instead.

"Of course, I'm worried. There's a war. You heard what your Captain said," Fleur said, pointedly. Both Veela women thought about the owl that they had received from a wolf back in the Republic. They were going straight into war territory. The captain wanted to go towards the City-States, but Gabrielle had insisted that they continue towards Velothi.

"We have to go, though," Gabrielle said.

"You still haven't told me why. I remember a time where you told me everything. You can trust me," Fleur insisted and her face fell when Gabrielle flinched at the word. _Trust._ Gabrielle didn't feel like she could trust anyone anymore. Fleur shook her head. "I'm going to see what is waiting for us on shore. Don't interrupt me. I'll...try to tell you what I see."

"I won't," Gabrielle said solemnly. "And okay."

Fleur nodded once and she picked up the single grain she'd been able to find on the wretched ship that tore her insides asunder, and made her spit of water and bile. A grain of rice. She began to spin with the rice and Gabrielle gaped as golden thread flowed from that single grain of rice, spilling onto the floor. Fleur's eyes began to glow and the wheel began to turn of its own accord.

" _Pokazhite mne proshloe_ ," Fleur breathed.

And then she jerked, her back arching. Her eyes glowed as she spun the wheel, trembling again and again. Gabrielle leaned forward, intrigued.

"I...I see...Hermione," Fleur gasped, breathing hard, and trembling. Her eyes were searching something that Gabrielle could not see and Gabrielle was in awe as Fleur's hair seemed to take a life of its own, writhing wantonly through the air. Her spine went straight and she hissed. Fleur tore her eyes away from the wheel for just a moment to glance at her sister. "S-safe."

Fleur watched Gabrielle nod. "Okay," Gabrielle murmured.

Fleur closed her eyes as the images flashed over her. Hermione running. Hermione free. Hermione soaked in blood. Zabini _dead._

" _Ukaž mi budoucnost_ ," she murmured, calling to the future.

 _BURNING._

The Seven and the pyre and a mirrored crone who whispered, _Ainu_ , to her. Fleur wept, tears streaming down her face, joining with the saltiness of mucus on her bottom lip. She trembled, shaking as the lilies and the daffodils and the irises were turned to ash. Red cloaks and mirrors and tears of blood.

 _How do you become DEATHLESS?_

A woman with violet eyes and hair of raven walking the salty earth, clutching Elder in one hand and crushing an apple in the other. Gabrielle's favorite. Albion apples.

And the future abruptly ended, letting Fleur see no farther. She stopped her wracking sobs, gathering herself and prepared for the present.

" _Ukaž mi Súčasnosť,_ " Fleur snarled.

The present slammed into her, as large and threatening as an ox. Fleur shuddered from the force and she forced her eyes open so that she could see.

A man kneeling in water, his face painted. A woman in sea rags with a wide mouth and long wet blonde hair. _Ainu_.

Then, a woman-a little blonde woman that looked like a moon though she wasn't a moon, though she looked _nothing_ like a moon-adorned the Wyrdfod with ashes and settled a crown on his head. Wyrdfod...Wyrdfod means…

"Deliverer."

Fleur jerked back, the magic ending and she looked up, wide-eyed at Gabrielle. Gabrielle's eyes were out of focus, and she stared at the mirror just over Fleur's shoulder, attached to the wall.

"What do you see?" Fleur demanded.

Gabrielle shuddered. "Baba Yaga says... _Deliverer. Ainu, Deliverer._ "

Fleur swallowed. She had wanted to see because she wanted to find a reason not to go to Albion. Gabrielle jerked, suddenly thrown from her vision. She looked at Fleur, finally properly terrified.

"Baba Yaga spoke to you," Fleur said.

Gabrielle slowly nodded. "I...I saw her. When we were getting on the boat. She said to go to Albion."

Fleur swallowed. "Then, we go."

 **OF**

"This...Grandmother, there's already an Heir," Neville said for what felt like the thousandth time. August grunted her default response after the third time he had said such a thing. She paid more attention to her letters than to her supposed 'King'. Neville didn't feel like a King. Neville looked down at his sister. "You said he's the Wyrdfod."

"I did not see him fly," Daphne said, instead, willfully ignorant.

"But, your sister says she did. She said that the seas were raging. That they saw him atop the dragon with the Dark Lord sitting astride behind him," Neville pointed out and wasn't that interesting. The Dark Lord had betrayed his kin, running after the Wildfyre man and riding off with him, a trail of fire coming after him.

"We will take advantage of all this distraction. We will expel the Slytherins from Essetir, and then we shall deal with this Wildfyre boy," Augusta said, firmly. She looked over at them, a grim expression on her face. "We don't know where he stands. Minerva McGonagall, Head of the Order is dead."

Neville and Daphne exchanged looks, not quite sure of what that meant, but they nodded. Neville looked up, swallowing. Daphne sighed, reaching up from between his legs, and brushed her thumb over his cheek. He smiled down at her as she kneeled up, finished mixing the colors. He stared down at the raw cuts on her wrist, still sluggishly bleeding, and shivered.

Daphne kneeled between her ward-brother's spread legs, brushing her fingers over his face, staining his cheeks with saltwater and blood. Neville sat in iron, his head tilted back, his eyes closed as Daphne marked him as the way a salt-warrior would look. She had already drawn the marks on her own face, for her sister would surely be without them.

"You are the King in the East," Daphne said, her voice hard. "You are the _Ironborn_."

"I am only King until we meet Harry Wildfyre for the first time," Neville reminded her. "Until you can confirm him as the Wyrdfod."

Daphne shook her head as she pulled him to his feet, walking him out of their tent, her back to them all. They ignored the host of Eastern nobility, all watching with solemn faces. Augusta followed them and despite her age, her stride was strong as she joined the nobility at their place on the rocky shores. Neville looked away from them all, too terrified.

Daphne pulled him towards the crashing waves until they stood ankle-deep in the water.

Neville pretended that they didn't watch, falling to his knees before her as she rolled her shoulders back. Daphne in the water was always a sight. When she stood in the water, her person suit melted away and she reveled in the strangeness of her eyes, the wideness of her mouth, the sharpening of her teeth. The wounds on her wrists bubbled and knitted together, making her whole once more.

"Will you consecrate your faith to the Dtrwies?" Daphne called.

She didn't pretend that they understood what she was doing. All that mattered was that Neville and his family believed in what she did.

"I would," Neville said.

Daphne nodded. "You will be born from the sea as I. Bless him with salt," she called as she knelt, grabbing the gourd of saltwater. She poured it on his face and he opened his mouth, drinking it down. "Bless him with stone. Bless him with iron. What are your words?"

"What is dead may never die," Neville snarled.

And then she took him by the back of his head and drowned him. His eyes shot open despite the way his eyes burned and turned red from the harsh churning salt-laden sea. He could feel her hands in her hair and on his chest, and he felt his heartbeat slow and his skin cool to the temperature of the ocean. Even as he felt water fill his lungs, he felt properly anchored by her touch, his dearest sister.

When she pulled him up, he gasped, her blood washed away from his face.

"How long was I under?" he asked, his voice raw and whispery.

Daphne's lips curled into a smile. "Five minutes." She turned to the Eastern lords and ladies, all staring at him in wonder. Neville wanted to quiver under their gazes, full of awe and expectation, things he had never seen for himself. "Look at your King! The King in the East! He is King Neville the Ironborn!"

They roared at him as she placed the salt-crown atop his soaked hair, and he wondered how similar they looked then-both doused in water and salt, matching towheads in the churning sea. He looked down at her and could see his own trepidation reflected in her eyes. And still, he was reminded of her words: _I will drown you._

"If we die...we drown together," he whispered only for her to hear.

"Always, brother," she whispered back, linking their pinkies as they had as children. And immediately, Neville was reminded of a time when their parents had been slaughtered and Daphne had held him while he screamed. His kind-hearted sister.

He remembered a time before that, when he had found a little girl on a beach, her knobby knees knocking against one another as he helped her learn to walk, helped her learn to breathe in the air rather than salt. He remembered a little girl who could only screech on land, a guttural sounding thing that he learned, as she learned the common tongue. He remembered and he knew she remembered too.

Still, they shouted, " _THE KING IN THE EAST! ALL HAIL THE IRONBORN!"_

Neville heard them. Daphne heard them too. They were adults now, having lived through terrible things, having done terrible things. Yet, the children remained.

It was on that beach, where he was anointed with salt and blood, that he had found a mermaid one day long ago. It was on that beach, where a mermaid had found him, in return.

 **THEM ALL?**

Harry swallowed as the crowd parted around him. The sea of creatures and Men alike watched solemnly as he walked forward, his eyes trained on the two women and man that stood on the cliffside. On his shoulders was a cloak of darkest crimson, the color of Freia's scales. His head was bare of his crown, as it rested in Tom's hands. Tonks lifted her chin, her wand in hand.

" _Incendio_ ," she cast and the bonfire before the three burst into flames.

Some of the creatures flinched, but Harry did not. Instead, he looked up and saw where Freia hovered in the air, her eyes trained on him, as he approached Luna, Tonks, and Tom. Luna stooped down, grabbing a smoldering twig from the flames, holding it in front of her as if it were a torch rather than a burnt stick. Harry stopped in front of her.

She was perhaps the only person he knew that he towered over.

"Kneel, Wyrdfod," Luna Lovegood said.

Harry fell to his knees with a heavy thud, his head feeling strangely bare.

"Ainu," he greeted as he had been instructed. Luna nodded to him once and she reached down, brushing his wild hair from his forehead.

"Will you consecrate your faith to the Seven?" Luna demanded.

Harry swallowed as he thought about the Seven.

"I would," he responded.

Luna murmured words in the ancient tongue, her eyes glowing unnaturally. He thought he might have seen this once in a dream, or perhaps, in the reflection of a mirror. He couldn't be sure. Harry was never sure these days, but this...this he was sure of.

Luna leaned forward, cracking the burnt twigs, scattering it in his hair.

"Bless him with kindling," Luna murmured, tossing it in his hair, crushing it until her palms were black with it. She drew two lines down his cheeks, marking him with black as if he wept with it all. He did weep. He didn't weep anymore. "Bless him with ash. Tell me your name. What is your _name_?"

Harry bent his head forward. He didn't know anymore. He knew so very little things.

"Tell me!" Luna snarled "Are you Harry Wildfyre, the Wyrdfod?"

And Harry Wildfyre slowly looked up, his face streaked with ashes. He looked up at his people and did not smile.

"I am that I am," he said. "And more."

Luna took a step back, kneeling before him blowing ash from her pale hands into his face. Harry didn't flinch, only breathing it all in and Luna swallowed as the white fire slowly misted into the air around them. Luna turned and picked up the Gryffindor crown. She paused, turning to look at the two Slytherins that flanked her. Tonks nodded once to her. Luna slowly fell to her knees before Harry and settled the crown into Harry's hair.

As she did, the bonfire slowly melted away and circled Harry, kissing at his skin in greeting. Harry let out a deep breath and the sun burned brighter. Luna opened her mouth to declare him, but slowly Tonks tugged her back, moving to stand before Harry. Harry looked up at her, his brow furrowed.

"I am the One who comes after all. I am the One chosen by the Mirrored One," Tonks intoned, drawing the crimson sword from her back. She pressed it to each shoulder. "Bless him with Light. Bless him with blood. Bless him with power sewn to bone. In the name of the Abominable One, I bless you. In the name of Baba Yaga...I mark you, Wyrdfod."

Luna flinched, wide-eyed. "What?" she whispered.

"I crown thee Harry Wildfyre, King-Emperor of the Albion Empire," Tonks said, and she took Harry by his hands, pulling him to his feet. She looked at him, the sun, the Light, the _Wyrdfod._ "May they look upon ye mighty works and _despair._ "

:::

 **A/N:** Well, here it is. The beginning of the end. This is the section I have least outlined and while that worries me a little, I think that makes everything more exciting. I have certain points I want to hit in a timely fashion, and I know EXACTLY how the last five or so chapters will go, but for the in-between, your guess is as good as mine. Anyway, we're firmly in fairytale territory. The GoT references are pretty dead now as I attempt to wrap up some of the loose fairytales. I hope you enjoy!


	34. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : This is pretty short. It's a transition.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Hermione swallowed, looking around the grand rooms. These rooms suited Andromeda far better than her rooms at Hogwarts. At Westeron, the stone walls managed to look warm, and the room was draped in mustard yellow velvets. The chairs were overstuffed and the tables were carved onyx. There were equal measures of books and swords, and Andromeda looked stunning and still as dangerous as ever, donning her dressing gown as a warrior would wear chainmail. Hermione shivered again, tugging the velvet throw around her thin body even tighter.

"You never asked for me. I gave you the two-way mirror and I had hoped to hear from you," Andromeda said as her girl, Romilda, served them tea and hearty sandwiches. It was far more than Hermione was used to eating at Hogwarts.

She dug in with gusto, relishing in the fresh chicken. Andromeda smiled.

"I didn't…" Hermione swallowed her food. "I didn't think that you'd say anything I wanted to hear."

Andromeda's smile never dropped. "What do you mean?"

"I wanted the truth. You wouldn't give it to me," Hermione said, firmly. She didn't sound angry. She wasn't really angry at all.

"I _couldn't_ ," Andromeda corrected. "Nor did I want to. Do you really think you should've known about all of this?"

"Yes, I do," Hermione snapped. "I had no idea. I thought...well, I thought."

"Yes, you thought. You think Narcissa didn't know every little thought in your head, little bird?" Andromeda challenged. Hermione opened her mouth to retort but Andromeda shook her head. "Narcissa would've never let you go. Everything would've fallen apart."

"Luna knew," Hermione hissed.

"Because your maid had something you didn't: anonymity. Narcissa would've looked right through her. But, you were valuable. The Dark Lord was always watching. _We_ were always watching," Andromeda said. Hermione swallowed.

The Dark Lord had turned his back on his youngest sister. He had flown away on the back of a dragon, accompanied by the most beautiful person she had ever seen in her life. And then, he was gone again, just as quick, accompanying that beautiful person to the City-States.

"Why...why did he betray her? I understand why you did. But, why did he?" Hermione asked.

Andromeda leaned back in her seat.

"That's a long story, Lady Granger."

"I'm not a Lady," Hermione retorted. Andromeda's smile widened. "And we have the time. How did this happen?"

"Well...long ago, I fell in love," Andromeda began. "And then that love was shattered."

"Go on."

"I know you know that once upon a time, I ran away. I ran because I had fallen in love with a Muggleborn and we had a child. My brother came to collect me, slaughtered my husband, and my child. Except, he didn't," Andromeda murmured, and she sounded torn. Both baleful and triumphant. Full of grief and a sort of peace that she had not carried the last time they had spoken to one another. "Nymphadora Tonks. The woman in the red cloak."

"She's your daughter," Hermione murmured.

Andromeda nodded. "Yes. And the King...well, he said that if I bent the knee and pledged Afallon to him, that he would allow me access to my daughter. So, I did. I bent the knee."

"But, how did the Dark Lord become his Chancellor? The King had your daughter. He didn't have anything that belonged to the Dark Lord," Hermione said, frantically trying to understand.

Andromeda laughed. "He does have something that belongs to the Dark Lord. His heart. My brother wanted to cut Harry's heart out and eat it alive. That is old magic. Blood magic. Terribly _Dark_ magic. But...love makes us mad, doesn't it?"

Hermione paled.

"Love?"

"There are so many things to love about Harry Wildfyre, my girl, it would make your head spin to hear them all. And my brother is desperately in love. As in love with Harry as Harry is in love with him," Andromeda said.

Hermione swallowed. "I didn't think the Dark Lord could love," she confessed.

Andromeda's eyes narrowed as she regarded the young woman. Sometimes, she forgot how young Hermione Granger truly was.

"It is easy to love the Wyrdfod," Andromeda repeated.

Hermione nodded, slowly. "Do you think...do you really think this is right? That he's what this empire needs?"

Andromeda was silent for a long moment, considering Hermione's question. Hermione's stomach turned. If Harry Wildfyre turned out to be just another Draco, then they were doomed. Hermione would just have found herself in another enemy's territory without anywhere to escape. She would still be a stranger in a strange land.

And finally, Andromeda answered.

"I think...that he is what the empire needs, but doesn't deserve."

 **MIRROR**

Harry felt Tom's eyes on his back, but he pretended not to notice. It got easier to pretend every time. He couldn't pretend that he didn't love Tom, but he couldn't pretend that the man wasn't just complicit but also responsible for the state of the empire. Harry had tried to ignore it. He tried to ignore the nightmares too. It never worked.

"Harry," Tom said.

Harry closed his eyes and instead focusing on the burning above them. He could feel Freia now, more than he could ever feel her before. She was like the sun, big and burning as bright as the fire in the pit of his stomach. He could feel her under his skin and it made him feel _alive._

"You can't ignore me forever because of our personal differences, Harry. You have a power that I've...I've only seen once before," Tom confessed.

Harry spun to face the man that he adored, the man that he loved. His green eyes burned with rage and he swallowed it down, holding it inside of him. The fire burned, raging against his skin. He could feel it just underneath. He thought Tom could sense it too.

"What do you want me to say, Tom?" Harry whispered, his voice harsh.

Tom took a deep breath. "Do you feel it?"

So, he could sense it too.

"Of course I can feel it. It's...it's as if there's something under my skin that's _alive_. Something that isn't quite me but is me at the same time. It wants out. It wants to burn and Freia feels it too," Harry murmured quietly. He held out his hand and exhaled. The white flames leaped at the call, as easy as breathing. He didn't even need to think about it anymore.

Tom nodded.

"You are power—"

"You know I love you," Harry interrupted. Tom's brow furrowed and he didn't say anything. "I love you more than anything. But, I can't give anymore. I have nothing left to give. I feel spent and broken and I am so tired, Tom. I am tired."

"You must keep on," Tom said, his voice chilly.

Harry scoffed. "Oh, I know. I won't stop until I'm dead."

"Good."

"Would it kill you to tell me that you love me too?" Harry asked, looking away at the sea again. Tom opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Harry lifted his hand to stop him. "No. I don't want you to say anything. I won't beg for table scraps anymore...like a fucking dog. No. It doesn't matter. All that matters is this."

"This?" Tom murmured.

"You want my forgiveness so desperately, Tom," Harry mocked. Tom recoiled, his lips curling at the idea of him begging for something. "You reek of it. But, I want this. All that matters is _this_. I want to remember my rage. My grief. Let me keep it."

And Tom stared at his angry lover. His broken, beautiful lover that had never been more beautiful than in his grief.

"Keep your grief. Keep your rage. I am here when you are finished with it."

Tom watched Harry's back as he trembled. Harry let out a sharp sound and there was an answering shriek. Freia swooped down from the sky, leveling out with the side of the ship. Harry stepped up onto the ledge and climbed onto Freia's wing, crawling with confidence until he was on her back. And then, he was lost in the air.

Lost in the beating sun.

 **MIRROR**

Luna's fingers dug into the side of the ship. The Wyrdfod was flying on Freia's back, leading them forward. Rabastan watched at the wheel, as he brought them forward. Rodolphus was probably below deck, planning with the Dark Lord. Luna swallowed hard when she felt a presence join her as she watched the Wyrdfod.

"Who are you?" Luna asked, softly.

She had watched the Red Woman from the moment she had seen her. Tonks had disappeared when they arrived back at Afallon but had met with her to organize crowning Harry before the creatures. But, she had never allowed Luna her full time to ask the questions she wanted to ask. And Luna had so many _questions_.

"I am Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Andromeda Slytherin and Theodore Tonks," Tonks said, turning her strange gaze onto Luna. "You look just like your mother."

"You knew who she was. But...how?" Luna asked.

Tonks cleared her throat. "Your mother raised me. Trained me."

"When?" Luna demanded.

"When I was sixteen," Tonks said. "I'm nearly thirty."

Luna faltered. "I was...I was five," Luna murmured. "My mother died when I was eight. When did she leave you?"

"When I was twenty-three," Tonks responded immediately.

"She...she wasn't dead," Luna said.

"She wasn't dead."

"Why, then?" Luna murmured, her voice cracking. She didn't expect the compassion in Tonks' eyes, though her expression never flickered, always cold—like a Slytherin.

"Because you were not necessary to the story. And you know how your mother enjoys stories," Tonks said, firmly.

Luna swallowed. "She never told the whole story. When I was a child. She'd always stop before the ending."

"They called your mother many names," Tonks said, coldly. She looked out at the ocean, unbendable. Luna stared at the woman and trembled when she realized why Tonks seemed so _familiar_. "They called her Schau Fraude. The Abomination. Marzenna. Baba Yaga."

Tonks reminded her of her mother.

"What did you call her?" Luna whispered.

"Pandora," Tonks said, turning to look at Luna.

"She left me. Abandoned me to my fate," Luna said as if she couldn't quite believe it. Tonks only nodded, taking a deep breath. Luna looked over her shoulder and saw Rodolphus watching, a concerned look on his face. Luna turned back to Tonks.

"Because this is bigger than any one of us," Tonks said. She cleared her throat. "How old is your mother?"

"Centuries old," Luna said immediately.

"Millennia," Tonks corrected. Luna's eyes widened. "Your mother did things...things that would terrify you. Things that scarred me."

Luna swallowed. She knew that her mother wasn't a good woman. Pandora had never been good to anyone but those that suited her purposes. The most humanity that Luna had ever seen out of the woman was when she was still nearly a babe. The way that Pandora looked at Xenophilius couldn't be mistaken for anything but love. It had been snuffed out when he was burned alive.

"Do you know what happened to me?" Luna asked. She asked as if she expected Tonks to know.

She was surprised when Tonks shook her head.

"No. I only know what I've been told," Tonks said, softly.

"And what was it you were told?" Luna challenged.

Tonks' lips curled into a smile. Luna could see what Harry Wildfyre saw in her. She was frighteningly similar to Pandora—with her secrets and coldness—but Tonks had a fire in her. She was good. She was _kind_.

"I'm not allowed to tell you, yet," Tonks said. "There are things I don't even know. I just know my purpose. My destiny. And it wasn't something I chose. So, how about we trade a story for a story? Tell me what happened to you and I'll tell you what happened to me."

Luna nodded. She could agree to that.

"When my mother abandoned me to my fate, she released a fearful man in the process. Ignatius Peverell, the Deathless, came for me in revenge. He scarred my body. Tortured me. I was only a child. I hadn't even started my blood," Luna said, softly. Tonks stared at her. There was no pity in her eyes. Good. "I wasn't violated. Not...sexually. But, in every other way, I was. Rodolphus, my love, saved me. And the Dark Lord took me back to Albion. Out of affection for my mother."

Tonks nodded in understanding.

"I see," she murmured. She shook her head, rueful. "Fuck Pandora."

Luna laughed. "Fuck Pandora," she agreed. She leaned forward. "Your turn."

"I was a whore in the City-States. And one day, a woman came to me offering me a cloak and a chance. A chance at knowledge and power. I took it because I was terrified and felt there was no choice. There never was. We are all born to fate. You are Ainu and I am...me," Tonks said, her voice cracking with something that Luna couldn't identify.

"And what are you?" Luna asked.

Tonks hummed. "Destined to Death," Tonks said. She grinned. "But, aren't all of us that have been touched by Pandora's stories?"

"You think my mother did this. All of this." It wasn't a question.

And Tonks' eyes flashed as she turned on Luna.

"Your mother knew we would meet one day. She knew that you were Ainu. And she didn't love you," Tonks said. Luna flinched, looking down at her feet. Tonks reached forward, grabbing her hand and squeezing once. "Your mother was not capable of love. You know this. She cared deeply for you, but she didn't love you. She can't. It's not in her nature."

"I know," Luna whispered.

Tonks shook her head. "No, you don't. But, you will."

 **ON**

Gabrielle wasn't sure she would call it a relief when she finally caught sight of the approaching city, but she felt something heavy and foreboding. Perhaps, it was anticipation. Fleur would call what she felt, relief. Fleur was tired of living on the floating hellhole that smelled of sick and rotting fruit, and dog. It had only been three weeks at sea, but it was too close to the full moon for her comfort. She was eager to escape into Albion, whatever it held for her and her sister.

When they finally docked, the Captain turned to the Alpha of Laug.

"What is it you need of us, Alpha?" he asked, immediately.

Gabrielle pulled her hood over her head, cautious even in a land that promised something far better than her homeland. A chance.

"Nothing for now," Gabrielle said.

The Captain looked thrown at her words. "What do you mean nothing, Alpha?"

"I'm not...I can't be your Alpha. I'm not a wolf. You listen to Deyanira. Deyanira Argentum," Gabrielle said, suddenly unsure of herself. She winced. She hadn't been unsure since she had left her husband. _Him._ Her love.

Thinking of him made it hard to breathe, made the space between her ribs ache something terrible. When she thought of him, her thoughts spiraled, and she wanted to weep tears that she hadn't thought she had anymore.

"But, she's not the Alpha," the Captain said forcefully.

"I...I have something to do here. I don't know if I'll ever be back. To Laug. So, listen to Deyanira," Gabrielle said, firmly. She turned towards her sister. Fleur held out her hand silently, and Gabrielle wasn't a fool. Not anymore.

She took her sister's hand in her own and squeezed once. They disembarked.

When Gabrielle finally stood on land—Albion land—she felt a thrill. Like a child. This was the place that Gabrielle had imagined when life had been too provincial, too trivial. And now, here she was, something magical or divine—or both—that had commanded her to come. Gabrielle swallowed her squeal and she looked up through her pale eyelashes at her sister.

Fleur was grinning down at her. She knew. She knew her so well, and Gabrielle wondered how she had ever thought that Fleur didn't understand her at all. Fleur was the only one that understood her now.

And so, the Delacour siblings walked through cobbled roads of the great port city of Velothi, Essetir, hope on their faces. They had nothing but the clothes on their back, a sword of silver, and a tiny burlap sack of gold, and they surely smelled like shit, but here they were. They were in Albion.

 _Albion._

 **THE WALL**

Neville swallowed his nerves.

"Grandmother, I can't make heads or tails of any of this," Neville said, his voice full of panic. "I'm not...I'm a Herbologist! Not a soldier!"

"You're both. You've been trained to be both," Augusta snapped at him as they walked through Arcadia's stronghold. Neville suppressed a wince every time they passed a Lord of Lady who bowed or curtsied to him.

He would never grow used to it. Neville hoped he never had to.

"I know, but I don't know how to lead an army," Neville hissed from the corner of his mouth. Augusta rolled her eyes as they turned into a doorway, entering Neville's sister's private quarters. Everything was draped in silks and velvets and it smelled like ocean air and sand.

Daphne was sat in the middle of her room, barely dressed but for the gossamer that she draped across her that left nothing to the imagination. If it were anyone else, Neville would've nearly keeled over in embarrassment for how much of her he could see. Except, this was Daphne and the first time he'd seen her, she'd been naked as the day the Dtrwies made her.

"What has your sister told you so far?" Augusta asked as she joined Daphne at her large table, sitting across from her.

As always, Neville sat between them. He could never sit across from Daphne. It implied that he wasn't always, _always_ on her side.

"He sails for the City-States. And he mourns. And he sails. And he screams. And white fire follows him," Daphne said, softly, twitching gently. She looked at them with troubled eyes. "My sister truly believes he is the Wyrdfod."

Augusta hummed. "And? What have they been whispering aboard the ship? Plans?"

Neville balked. "Grandmother, our primary objective must be survival. We cannot go against—"

Daphne snarled something in her language as she dragged her fingers through the water. The water bubbled around her pale hands.

"My sister says...she says he has a dragon," Daphne gasped. "He _is_ the Wyrdfod. Grandmother—"

Neville's eyes widened as he saw the water bubble around Daphne's hands. Daphne fell into a thousand yard stare, swaying as she heard something only she could hear. Neville glanced at his grandmother, but her own eyes were hard. Daphne whimpered again, shaking her head, a gurgling sound coming from her throat.

"What else?" Augusta asked. Daphne continued to gurgle, speaking softly to the sister that the two Longbottoms she couldn't see. Augusta slammed her fist down. " _Daphne._ What. Else?"

Daphne looked up, her eyes uncharacteristically soft. "Draco is mourning me."

"How does she know that? Is he by the sea? Where is he?" Augusta snapped out.

Neville cleared his throat. "Grandmother—"

Augusta ignored him, staring intently at her pseudo-granddaughter.

Daphne looked up, a terrible sadness on her face.

"No. But, he cries an ocean of tears. My sister tastes the salt of his grief. What a pitiful boy," Daphne said and Neville was stricken.

Sometimes, Daphne was like the sea—unforgiving and unyielding. And sometimes, she was still like the sea, yet calm and nurturing and yearning to heal. Despite Daphne's grief, her rage, she still wanted to fix a poor, damned boy, just as she had wanted to be the friend of a poor, dumb boy. Daphne was always saving her boys. Neville just hadn't ever imagined that both he and Draco _Slytherin_ would be considered 'her boys'.

"You cannot save him," Augusta spat. "His mother has dug him a grave."

"Aye," Daphne said, and then she was unyielding again. "A watery grave. I have marked him. It cannot be undone. I pity the man."

Augusta snorted, shaking her head.

"Save your pity for someone who deserves it, girl. Tell me something useful now. What are the Slytherins planning next?" Augusta snarled. Neville leaned forward until his face was just in front of hers, over her little bowl of water, her fingers twitching inside.

Daphne trembled, and then suddenly, the water exploded, drenching both Neville and Daphne in saltwater. Daphne breathed it in, refreshed, while Neville sputtered, wiping at his burning eyes. Augusta rolled her own eyes, huffing.

Daphne pulled back, shaking her head like a wet dog. She turned to Augusta.

"There is something... _Dark_ moving through the lands, across seas. It is not the Slytherins."

Neville swallowed hard. "What now?"

"It is what we call, Marzenna," Daphne said. She opened her mouth to explain but fell silent when Augusta lifted her hand. The older woman stood and Neville and Daphne stood immediately, ever the trained soldiers. Augusta looked satisfied with their swiftness.

"We have no time for your Mermish tall tales. We know nothing about the Slytherins movements, but at least we know of this...Wildfyre. Come, we must make haste and make plans. There is no time to waste."

 **WHO IS**

Narcissa watched her son. He sat in his council chair, his gaze so very far away. He looked like he was anywhere but there. She wondered what he thought about. She rapped softly on the table in front of him, her wand clenched tight in her fist. Draco looked up, stroking a hand over his grizzled, spotty facial hair, his eyes the same color as his father's. Narcissa had no qualms delving deep into his mind.

She didn't have to go deep to see that he mourned.

 _Her blonde hair, her sea glass eyes, her wide mouth. Daphne Greengrass haunted his shadow like a ghost._

Narcissa pulled back, scoffing at his weakness. Draco let out a hard bark of a laugh before he cleared his throat.

"I call this council meeting to order," he rumbled, his voice coming through in a low growl. The remaining men at the table fell silent. The magic of the room didn't work, of course. There were seats that weren't filled, but there was nothing to be done about that just yet. "Gentlemen, we have entered a war we cannot win."

There was a long moment of stunned silence. Narcissa recoiled at her son's words, a blaze of fury racing up her spine at the soft admission.

"Your Grace, we have suffered a devastating blow, but this is something we can recover from," Dolohov said, his wild eyes belaying his panic despite the calm of his voice.

"Recover?" Draco rasped. He gestured at the empty seats. "We have lost our council."

"Not all of us," Theodore Nott said, firmly.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "We have lost MacNair, Blaise, and...my uncle," Draco said, hesitating. The entire council shifted uncomfortably.

"We have lost the weak," Narcissa said, her voice cold. The council regarded her sharply. There was a wariness in their eyes that hadn't been there before. None of them could avoid the diamond of her now—not when it was in her war-painted face, in the warrior's braids that trailed down her back. "And now, we will build ourselves stronger than ever."

Draco was silent, looking away.

"Lady Chancellor, what do you propose?" Dolohov asked, immediately, always loyal. Forever her man. Narcissa's lips curled into a sweet smile.

The rest of the council startled at her new title.

"The King and I have discussed a new council. We will introduce Lord Bartemius Crouch, Sr. as the Lord of the Coin, Lord Mulciber as Commander of the Navy, and Pansy Parkinson as the Lady of Whispers," Narcissa said.

Draco startled at the name of his paramour. "Pansy?" he asked, softly.

The three that she had named stepped out of the shadows, watching with determination in their eyes. Crouch and Mulciber didn't hesitate to take their seats. Only the seat on the other side of Draco was available. Pansy only hesitated for a moment before she went to her seat, squeezing Pansy's wrist.

Narcissa lowered her lips to Draco's ear. "I trust no one with you, but if I were to, it would be she," Narcissa said.

Pansy had long proven her loyalty to her boy.

Draco flinched but said nothing else.

"What have you heard, Lady Pansy?" Narcissa asked, giving no time for any adverse reactions.

Pansy leaned back in her chair, gathering her wits about her. Narcissa had told her that her position—her life—was conditional in what her petty gossiping skills could gather. It was conditional on whether her gossip could translate to something far greater than the court, on the chessboard of war.

"The dragon has been spotted. Flying towards the City-States. We cannot touch him there. MACUSA, if they choose to give him refuge, has a far stronger fleet than us—" Pansy said.

"Untrue," Mulciber interrupted, his lips curled. "Girl, I've been an officer in the navy for—"

"It doesn't matter. It _is_ true," Pansy said, stubbornly. "Your arrogance means nothing in the face of truth. Lady Chancellor, if they take him in, we cannot win. And, we must engage the East. Essetir has been taken by the Longbottoms. They call the Longbottom Lord, the King in the East."

"Aye, I have heard," Narcissa murmured.

If she were a girl, she would've worried her bottom lip with the tip of her wand. She would've fidgeted through the solution of this problem. But, she was not a girl. She was a woman grown. She was the Lady Chancellor of Albion.

"Our army outmatches Essetir, but is severely outmatched by the Pretender's—" Crouch said.

Dolohov scoffed. "We shall call him what he is. Wildfyre."

"He is no Pretender," Draco murmured. Everyone to look at him, wide-eyed. "He is _no_ Pretender. They do not call my uncle, 'Kingmaker' for fun. Harry Wildfyre is no Pretender."

"He is a Pretender to me," Narcissa snarled with such a rage that the entire room flinched away from her. Narcissa lifted her chin, hissing. She turned to Dolohov. "If we do not have the numbers, what shall we do?"

"We buy the numbers," Dolohov said, softly. "An alliance. With the Order of Nidavellir."

Narcissa paused. A band of savage mercenaries that wandered the world, pillaging and raping and destroying.

 _Perfect._

"Can we afford it?" Nott asked, looking towards Crouch.

Crouch lifted his chin. "It depends on the value we place in them. If they infinitely turn the tide of the war, then it is an investment that we will sacrifice much to make. But, there are other things to consider. The Pretender occupies Afallon, Albion's primary provider of goods. We'll need to start rationing. If we ration and invest most of the coffers into Nidavellir, we'll be able to sustain a war for about a year."

Narcissa paused. She lifted her chin. The Order of Nidavellir was formidable.

"Mother. You decide," Draco said, looking away.

Narcissa gritted her teeth, nodding. "Do it, Crouch," Narcissa commanded. "In addition to Lady of Whispers, Pansy Parkinson will serve as my Lady Secretary. I will have you all set up meetings with her. I want a detailed report within the day. Dismissed."

The lords lurched as her dismissal. Pansy stood up, swooping down to kiss Draco's cheek before she walked out. "Gentlemen," she called, and most of the lords trailed after her.

Crouch and Dolohov hesitated.

"You are included in 'gentlemen'," Narcissa said, coldly, never tearing her eyes away from her son.

They filed out of the council room until Narcissa was alone with her only son. Draco stared far away and when he looked at her, his lips curled into a snarl.

"Mother," he spat.

Narcissa sighed. "Draco, you must push away your grief."

"Stay out of my head," Draco hissed. Narcissa rolled her eyes at her son. Draco only grew more incensed by that. He stood up, shoving his chair back with a thud. Narcissa remained in her seat, sitting in it as if it were a throne. "You are the reason they all leave. You make them all _leave!_ "

Narcissa's coolness slid away from her face.

"What?" she breathed.

Draco seethed, "You are the reason Father left. Why Uncle left. Why she...Daphne…"

"She didn't want you," Narcissa snapped. "None of them _wanted_ you."

"None of them wanted me because of you!" he roared down at her. "You made me into this...this _monster_. And I don't know how to be anything else but a monster. I don't know _how_! Why did you do this to me? Because you wanted someone like _you_?"

Narcissa stood, her hand to her chest as if she held her heart in her palm. She trembled with her fury and pain. She looked at him with sharp eyes.

"It doesn't matter anymore. It is done, my monstrous little boy. She didn't want you. She didn't _love_ you. She promised that she would _drown_ you. Will you drown?" Narcissa bit out angrily.

Draco shook his head. "You know I won't even if I wish I could," Draco roared.

And then he crumpled, a terrible sob ripping free from his throat. Narcissa was by his side in a second, wrapping her arms around her boy as they sunk to their knees. He wept in her lap as he might have when he was barely a babe, gangly and young with a scraped knee. She kissed the top of his head as he buried his face in her stomach, his arms wrapped around his small waist.

"Do not worry, my boy," Narcissa whispered. "We are strong. Together...we will begin a new dynasty. Forged in the blood of a _god._ "

 **FAIREST**

"He won't speak to me," Voldemort said in greeting to his niece. She watched the dragon flying above, knowing that their King sat on the nape of Freia's neck, his face pressed against his warm scales.

Tonks hummed. "He is grieving. Of course, he won't."

"There is a war going on. I don't have time for his grief," Voldemort said sharply.

This wasn't a lie. There was no time for Harry's grief or sorrow. There was no time for anything else but bloodshed and victory. There was no time. There was nothing left to lose.

"What does he remind you of?" Tonks asked, coldly.

Neither looked at one another, staring out at Harry, flying high. Tonks only heard the sloshing of the waves and her uncle's breathing. She wondered what it must feel like to be on the back of such a great creature, soaring through the air as if one owned it. Her uncle had experienced such a thing. She wondered if it felt as holy as it looked. She didn't ask.

"When I found him, I felt power. But, this is something...more," Voldemort said, softly. Slowly, he turned his gaze to his niece, clearing his throat. "He doesn't even realize it."

"Of course, he doesn't. This isn't the end of the story," Tonks said, her fingers digging into the railing. The ending of the story pounded on the inside of her head. She knew. Blood and war. Flowers abundant. "This is what Pandora was. Before she became what she is."

"So, she's alive," Voldemort confirmed.

"Of course she is. She just left you. For Luna. And then, she left Luna for me. That's what she does. She orchestrates, Uncle, and she watches. She's _always_ watching and she _always_ leaves," Tonks said. She grabbed at the red cloak around her shoulders, tugging it tighter around her. Finally, Voldemort looked at her, his eyes burning as he regarded her.

"Nymphadora. Who gave you that cloak?" Voldemort whispered.

He remembered once upon a time, a woman pale as moon, with a cloak on her shoulders.

Tonks shook her head. "Uncle, there's a story. We follow it. Beginning, middle, and end."

"You knew," Voldemort said.

Tonks turned, sharply. "Knew what?"

"You knew that McGonagall was going to die. You knew that it was going to happen. You knew what it would do to him. And you didn't stop it," Voldemort said, softly. He took a step closer to her. "Pandora's a teacher, first and foremost. She taught me and my sister the blackest of arts. The power of blood. What did she teach you?"

"The Ancient Language. Mirrors. Rituals. And the best things come in threes," Tonks said, sharply regarding her uncle. "Three losses. His parents, his mentor...there is a third, Uncle. And it cannot be stopped. Death will not stop. Ever. You need to teach him."

"Teach him," Voldemort repeated.

Tonks hummed, nodding. "He needs to learn to control the magic before it controls him. Before he realizes what it means to be the Wyrdfod."

"It means he's 'Fateborn'. There's nothing else to it," Voldemort snapped.

Tonks scoffed. "Wyrdfod is an old word, Uncle. But, it doesn't just mean 'Fateborn'," she hissed, turning to look at him with narrowed eyes. "It means Deliverer."

 **OF**

No one recognized their faces. Salazar hadn't expected them to. The men and women of the city were young blood, lost in war and the emotions that followed it—grief, love, passion, and hatred. The city was brimming with the thick emotions, threatening to overwhelm him. Salazar hadn't been around this many in a long time.

He didn't remember this city being there. He wondered if it was all due to his daughter. Andromeda.

"She can sense us," Rowena said as if she was reading his thoughts.

Salazar wasn't surprised.

"Most probably," Salazar said as they moved through the crowds.

The city surrounding Westeron bustled with movement and the sound of armor and chainmail. There were children of all types—creature and human, magical and Muggle. It was the most diversity Salazar had seen in a long time—since the war against his predecessors if he was being quite honest with himself.

Regret stirred low in his belly. Once upon a time, he would've pretended that he didn't know what that was called—regret—but he had lived with it as his constant companion for far too long not to name it.

Rowena took him by the wrist, guiding him forward. Salazar hadn't even realized that he'd stopped in the middle of the road. They continued forward, hearing bits and pieces of conversations.

"Bread for sale—"

"Children, back in here! It's time to learn and—"

"—isn't here. The Wyrdfod will—"

And then, they were in front of the steps of Westeron. Salazar remembered time and again being at Westeron. The day they had won it from Morgin, mounted on her dragon. The moment when Helga had sat on the onyx throne, claiming it for her own. The day Lily was born. His children had been there.

They only took one step up before they were surrounded and the doors swung open with a crash that deafened the valley below. For just a moment, the entire city was silent, and then the bustle began again.

They were surrounded by Order members, all recognizable by the phoenix emblazoned on their breasts. A redheaded woman with blazing brown eyes and a bow across her back held her wand threateningly against Salazar's chin. A man that resembled her, tall and broad had a battle-ax in one hand, his wand in the other, aimed at Rowena. Rowena smiled, dry and amused.

But, Salazar only had eyes for the woman that stood in the doorway, walking forward.

She looked like Bellatrix, but softer. She looked like her mother. Tall and severe with a mess of brown curls. Some of her curls were free. Most were in warrior's braids, hanging down her back like ropes. Chainmail and velvet and a long broadsword. Andromeda Slytherin took another step forward, flanked by her cousins.

 _Sirius_. _Regulus._

"Lady Warden, what is your command?" the redheaded woman barked out.

Andromeda stared, stricken. She took another step forward, peeling away from her cousins.

"Father," she breathed.

Salazar forced a tired smile on his face. "Andromeda. You look...older."

"It's been many years, Father," Andromeda confirmed, looking at him in wonder. She looked over at Rowena, her nostrils flaring. "Rowena."

"Andromeda," Rowena hissed with a smile. "Where is the King?"

"He is...on a ship. To the City-States. Why are you here?" Andromeda whispered. "You cannot be here. He cannot...he cannot see you. You cannot speak to him"

Rowena laughed. "Oh, Andromeda, but we've much to tell him."

 **THEM**

She did not sleep nor did she eat.

She didn't need to. Not really. Not anymore. At least, not as much.

Sometimes, when Bellatrix was bored, she ate. When she was bored, she gorged, eating everything in sight. What she ate didn't matter. She ate bread and cheeses and the hearts of pretty girls in the villages she passed through. Everything tasted the same now. Like ash. Everything tasted like the ends of life, like the beginnings of death, and everything in between. Everything, but for the hearts, of course.

The hearts tasted like rawness of magic. It was better than anything. And once upon a time, Bellatrix had been queen. She thought she had been queen of a nation, and when she was, she had eaten the delicacies of the world and drank the finest of wines. Nothing could ever trump the taste of a pretty girl's heart.

But, that didn't matter. None of it mattered.

As she stared out from the shores of Salem, she could taste the blood. There was one delicacy that she looked forward to, beyond anything else. She knew that the heart of the Fairest would be like ichor. It was would be akin to a meal of gods. Bellatrix wouldn't gorge on the Fairest's heart. No, she would savor each bite as she looked into her darling brother's eyes, her lips smeared with red, the Fairest's heart caught between her teeth.

Bellatrix let out a sharp laugh that was lost to the ocean's winds.

He was near. Her dear, _stupid_ brother was near. Her beloved, sweet brother. She could reach out and practically taste him. She stumbled away from the seas. If she could taste him, he could taste her, and then, her work would be all undone. And that would not do.

That could not do.

She owed him a fall.

She would make him ugly too.

 **ALL?**

"Harry."

Harry stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the man that stood in his doorway. Tom rolled his eyes, shutting the door behind him and entering the room. The older man crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Harry was practically naked, but he didn't even seem to notice the chill in the air.

"What?" Harry finally asked.

"May I lay with you?" Tom asked.

Harry nodded, slowly closing his eyes. He felt Tom slide onto the bed and turn on his side. He could feel the man's war bright gaze on his face, analyzing every inch of him. Harry shuddered under that gaze. It read his grief and cut through his rage until Tom saw the rawness of his heart, the bloody pulp beating in his chest.

"Everyone is dead," Harry said.

"Not everyone," Tom said.

Harry closed his eyes. "My mother. My father. Creatures. Men. Women. Children. Dean. Hagrid. McGonagall."

"Not everyone," Tom repeated.

Harry's eyes flashed open and he turned to look at the man. He looked at the man, truly, and saw the darkness lurking in the shadows of the man's eyes.

"I don't know what to do. I want to cry. I want the world to cry with me. But, instead, everything burns hotter. And inside...I am _sick_. Sick with rage. I would burn the world in their names. But, I cannot. Because I must be good and just when I don't want to be. I want to _rage_ ," Harry hissed and Tom sat up, pulling Harry closer to him, cupping his face between two large hands. Harry stared into Tom's eyes.

"Harry, take that rage and make it your sword," Tom said, firmly.

Harry's fury seemed to drain away, leaving only sorrow and he grabbed at Tom, sliding into Tom's lap—finally, suddenly. Tom stiffened as Harry wrapped his legs around his waist, his arms around his neck. Harry buried his face against his chest and trembled, terrible gasping sobs rising from his throat and choking in his mouth.

"Please…" Harry rasped. "Don't leave me. Swear you won't ever _leave_ me."

Tom swallowed. "I won't ever leave you. I swear it on my life."

"Everyone leaves me," Harry hiccuped.

Tom closed his eyes and thought of the people that had left him. _His mother. Helena. Narcissa. Andromeda. Bellatrix._

But, that hurt too much. Not Bellatrix. He couldn't think of her. Except…

"Everyone's dead," Tom repeated, almost thoughtfully.

Harry pulled back, his eyes blazing. And Harry thought of those he held responsible. Narcissa. Draco. Dolohov. Crouch. And in the recesses of his mind, he thought of his grandfather and the Founders, too, for they had broken a boy into a man, and had sent him raining hell fire across an empire until that war had eaten him alive.

Harry grimaced. "Not _yet_."

:::

 **A/N:** Well, it's been a while. I have this story plotted out for the most part. I thought this would be about 10 chapters more. But, it seems I have 18 chapters and counting. So, I'm going to give this a tentative 22 chapters and an epilogue. I think.

Well. Let's go, y'all.


	35. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Note** : So, this was LONG overdue, and in apology, I give you four pages of straight-up smut in the middle of a drama-packed chapter. Here you go.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Twenty-Nine

They disembarked in the cover of night, on the far side of the island, hidden in a cove that Tonks had helpfully named. Harry tugged his hood closer over his head as he walked carefully across the rocky sand. He wiped the sweat from his brow. The colonies were more tropical than he thought they would be. It was a heavy mugginess that made him breathe just a little harder, feel just a little more tired. He glanced over at Luna, tucked under Rodolphus' arm. She looked like she was having a revelation.

"We make camp further on the island, my Lord?" Rabastan asked.

Harry looked up at the man, standing next to him. Tom's brow was furrowed as they walked further into Salem. There weren't many trees and not the type of trees that would provide much cover unless they wanted to go further into Salem and climb the small mountain at its center.

"We can't. We'll be noticed. If not by our kind, by creatures. They'll notice Harry. I know somewhere we can stay," Tonks insisted. She looped one arm through Harry's and changed direction, marching towards the city.

"We don't have a plan, yet. We can't go straight to the city now," Tom snapped.

Tonks scoffed. "We're not, Uncle. There's somewhere we can go that's safe and at the very edges of the city."

"And what about the dragon?" Tom said, looking up at the dark figure that was a nearly black spot in the night sky.

"She can take care of herself. She won't be any trouble," Harry insisted. Tonks nodded in agreement, looking sharply at her Uncle.

Tom looked put out that he was not the one forming a plan but he followed his niece anyway. Harry leaned into Tonks' side, looking up at her wide-eyed.

"The City-States," Harry breathed, his lips twitching into a small smile.

"Well. Only Salem," Tonks corrected with a tiny smile. She glanced over her shoulder. "We don't need to go far. I've made accommodations for us at the very edge of the city."

They continued their trek in near silence, moving further inward. Harry looked up again. Freia passed over the moon, casting a burgeoning shadow for just a moment before she swooped up again, disappearing into the darkness. He got feel her, straining for the mountains, ready to hide until she was called. Watching her, he wondered if she missed Hedwig. His sweet Hedwig, who was not yet ready for battle, but soon would be. He winced at just thinking about the half-grown lion cub. She looked like a lioness, already—large and threatening with her amber eyes and sharp teeth. But, she would always be a cub to him, just as Freia would always be a dragonet.

Harry snapped back to attention as Tonks' gait slowed. They were approaching a freestanding building—at least four stories high—that seemed to be brimming with action. It was painted an ostentatious fuschia, and there was the sound of women's laughter—screeching and grating. Then, the sound of something heavy falling and crashing to the ground.

"A whorehouse? What are we doing here?" Rabastan whispered to Rodolphus.

Harry stared at Tonks with wide eyes as she stepped forward, fiercely, and knocked on the door. The door swung open, revealing an older woman, pale and strange. Her blonde hair was curled in an elaborate style, her face heavily powdered. She had a heavy-jawed face, with arching penciled-in eyebrows, and a pair of bejeweled spectacles on her nose. When she grinned, Harry could make out exactly three solid gold teeth in her mouth. Her ample bosom was pressed up by the poison green corset she was wearing and her skirts parted, revealing her pale, hairless legs.

"Well, if it isn't sweet, sweet _Nympho_ ," the woman shrieked, throwing her head back and laughing. She glanced over her shoulder. "Do you hear that? Nympho is back!"

There was a roar of cheers from inside the whorehouse, echoed by the sounds of smashing glass.

Tonks rolled her eyes.

"Wotcher, Rita. I've brought guests."

She shouldered past the older woman and pushed into the whorehouse, beckoning in the rest of Harry's party. Harry stepped forward, his eyes wide as he peered around.

There were men _and_ women, all crowded around the messy brothel. It was well-kept, for what it was, but overflowing with patrons. One woman had lifted a whore onto the bar, her face buried between her ample breasts. The woman behind the bar was squeezed into a tight corset and a pair of knickers, and not much else. After all, those skirts were so sheer, it didn't count for much did it. Harry's mouth dropped open as a pair of blonde twins giggled as they were chased up the stares by a burly man, his hands still blackened from the work of the day.

"Are they paying customers, girl?" Rita asked. She stopped in front of Harry, grabbing him by the chin and tilting his head up. Harry gasped, jerking back. "Oh...he's _beautiful_. Beautiful like you could be when you liked to use your little tricks, Nympho. He would fetch me high, _high_ prices with the governors."

Tom sneered, grabbing Harry's wrist and jerking him back. "He's not a whore," Tom growled out.

Rita laughed, sweetly, her eyes flashing as she looked Tom up and down.

"Oh, you've made beautiful friends, Nympho. Are you looking for...entertainment, sir?" Rita asked, fluttering her feathery eyelashes, dipping forward to show off her large, liver-spotted breasts.

"That is my Uncle, the Dark Lord Voldemort, you hag," Tonks snarled.

Rita blinked, madly, jerking back, her cheeks turning pink while the rest of her turned ashen. Finally, she seemed to notice those burning crimson eyes, and she cringed away from them. She looked at Tonks, terror in her eyes suddenly, and then back at Tonks' party. Her eyes fell on Harry. Rita's talon hand wrapped around Tonks' bicep and she jerked her forward.

"You've brought... _him_. The Fairest. What have you brought into my house, girl?" she hissed into Tonks' ear through her grinning mouth.

"Backroom and I'll explain everything. And there's gold in it for you. Promise," Tonks said, keeping an easy smile on her face. She looked over Rita's head and nodded at a rather older, tired looking redhead woman. Harry flushed. The woman was naked. "Wotcher there, Paloma."

"You finally back, then, girl? Where you belong?" Paloma drawled, nastily. She crossed her arms over her sagging breasts, uncaring that her crotch was on display.

Harry averted his eyes.

"I'm back for now," Tonks retorted, her lips curled.

Paloma scoffed. "I took all your regulars, you know. Always asking 'Where's Nympho? Where's the nympho?'" she called mockingly. "They'll be happy to know you're back after a damned decade, isn't it? Are you going to join me for old times' sake?"

Tonks took a deep breath, shaking her head. "I'm here on government business. I've got a new place of employment."

"Oh, I _heard._ You know how men like to talk. Lady Tonks, is it, now? Too good for us?" Paloma spat. "Once a whore, always a whore."

"Oh, I know," Tonks said, quite seriously.

And Paloma considered her, looking rather pleased then. "Good. As long as you remember who took you in," she said, and then she turned on the spat, sashaying back up the stairs, the inside of her thighs glistening.

Harry cringed. He glanced over at Rita who was looking around nervously.

"Enough. We have things to discuss," Harry said, softly.

Tonks nodded. "Right. This way," she said. She led them forward and Rita barely recovered before she was scurrying along. Rita pushed her way into her office, unlocking it with a key. Harry wasn't even sure where the enormous, crooked key had come from, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Rita collapsed behind her large gleaming wooden table. Harry's eyes widened at the amount of money piled on her desk. Stacks of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, evenly lined the front of her desk, in a methodical manner.

"Sit, your Majesty," Rita said, flourishing at the rickety chair across from her.

"Um...I'd prefer to stand, Madam," Harry said.

Tonks snorted. "You've still no class, Rita. It's 'your Grace'," Tonks corrected. She strode forward, brushing her fingers across the stacks of gold, silver, and bronze, and neatly avoided the Stinging Hex Rita immediately sent at her fingers. "I haven't forgotten all your tricks, Rita."

"I haven't forgotten how you were a little thief _either_ , Nympho," Rita retorted, snidely.

Tonks scoffed and looked over her shoulder, holding out her hand. Rodolphus walked forward, dropping a small sack into her hand. "We'll only need a week. In _clean_ rooms, Rita. I'm not joking. That's the King of Albion. Right there. And the Dark Lord. And Death Eaters. And _Pandora's_ daughter," Tonks snarled.

Rita's lip curled as she looked straight at Luna. "You bring that _thing's_ kin in here? Really, Nymphadora?" she asked, her voice like death.

"You'll speak to her with respect," Harry barked. "We're paying you an obscene amount for room and your discretion. The least you can do is afford us some courtesy."

Rita took a deep breath, and turned her sneer away, leaning back in her chair. She kept her stare on her coins and bared her teeth. Again, Harry couldn't help but notice the gold of her teeth.

"Really, Nympho. What have you gotten yourself into?" she muttered under her breath. She looked up then, from under her eyelashes. "I can't get you six rooms."

"We don't need six. Two will do. I'll sleep...is my old bed there for me?" Tonks asked, coolly.

"Tonks?" Harry asked, alarmed.

Rita raised an eyebrow. "You going to make some money, then, Nympho? If so, allow me to advertise."

"I haven't decided. But, I want my bed. There are things underneath it. Things I _know_ you haven't gotten access to," Tonks spat.

"Kick the twins out of it and it's yours," Rita decided. "Only two rooms?"

"Beauty attracts beauty," Tonks said with pursed lips. Rita's lips curled into a terrible smile as she looked at Harry and the Dark Lord, laughing darkly to herself.

"What are you telling her?" Voldemort snapped.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "You think she'll settle _just_ for gold? Oh, no. We deal in secrets here. They're fucking, Rita. Long and hard. So make sure that my King's bed is clean. Make sure it's clean every night. Two beds in the other room. For the Lestranges and Luna."

"Very well. I'll get it settled," Rita said, standing. She took a step closer to Tonks, and her eyes softened. She leaned forward, pressing her brightly painted lips to Tonks' cheek. Tonks gagged, shifting away from it, wiping the waxy cosmetic from her cheek. "Welcome home, Nympho."

"Can't say it's good to be back," Tonks said, firmly.

Rita laughed as she stalked out of the room, her poison green skirts swaying around her. The door snapped shut and Voldemort immediately pulled his wand.

"What the fuck was that?" he barked.

"That was me making a deal. Don't bother with wards. Rita is a cunning bitch. She's had this place warded longer than I've been born and nobody expects a King and a Slytherin to hide out in a whorehouse," Tonks said, coolly. She leaned back against the wall, staring out of the window.

"This is where you grew up," Harry said, softly.

Tonks hummed. "It is. Rita raised me. Until Pandora did. Rita taught me men and politics. Pandora taught me power and magic. And here I am. Now, enough of my 'tragic' childhood, caused by my 'loving' Uncle," Tonks said, shooting Voldemort a glare. Voldemort rolled his eyes. "We need a plan."

"I want to make an impression," Harry said, immediately. "They are the colonies and they've been allowed to act out for _far_ too long."

Voldemort nodded once. "Of course. They must fear you."

Luna looked, nervous as she swayed against Rodolphus' side. "I will not come," she said, softly. Everyone turned to look at her. "You saw how the madam, Rita, reacted to me. The Governors will not be as kind."

"You can't be here alone," Rodolphus whispered.

Voldemort scoffed. "Do not treat her like porcelain, Rodolphus."

"He's right, Rodolphus. She won't be touched. Especially because she is the _spitting_ image of her mother, and these people's memories run _long_ ," Tonks said firmly. She turned to Harry and gave a tired smile. "You'll make an impression, Harry. I'll be sure of it."

 **MIRROR, MIRROR**

"We know they're on Salem," Governor Helmut Weiss said. He glanced at Newt. "Mister Scamander, you said that there is a trace of that...dragon? In the mountains?"

"I...well, I said that the magical creatures are behaving wildly," Newt said, nervously. Theseus rubbed his thumb against his brother's inner wrist, attempting to relax him. It didn't help. Tiny brushed her hand against his elbow and he looked up at her from beneath his lashes, grateful.

"How so?" Graves asked.

"They...they are acting like prey. All of them. There is an apex predator on this island and only something big could make them all behave in the exact same pattern of behavior," Newt explained.

Everyone turned their gazes to Madame Picquery. Queenie was standing just at the President's left, in her space as the woman's private secretary.

"Then, they are coming. We will—"

"Madame," Queenie gasped, suddenly, lurching forward, one hand pressed to her chest and the other buried in her own blonde curls. Madame Picquery looked up at her, sharp-eyed.

Slowly, Tina looked up, her eyes widening as the doors creaked open. The wards had been dismantled without a sound, as if the doors had been blown open by a weak wind. She stared.

The first through the door was a woman draped in a crimson cloak, her hood hanging over her head, throwing her face into shadow. Two great broadswords were strapped to her back—one steel-colored and the other the color of old blood. Tina shivered and glanced at Queenie. Queenie was staring, absolutely stricken with terror.

"What is it, Queenie?" Tina whispered.

"Death…" Queenie breathed.

The Red Woman stepped aside, revealing the _Fairest._

Tina's mouth parted as Harry Wildfyre strode into the room, the Dark Lord Voldemort at his side, both of their faces so beautiful in their cruel coldness. Harry Wildfyre had the face of an angel, long black curls surrounding his pale face like a halo. His lips were plump and red as blood. But, that wasn't what distracted Tina the most. The Fairest was _powerful_ , with a magic that raged like fire. But, he was equally matched by his companion.

The Dark Lord was someone Tina had only heard about in stories, but she could feel the heaviness of his magic, settling on her chest and pressing her lungs flat. His jaw was strong, and his eyes were bright crimson, the color of freshly spilled blood. Draped in black, he was exactly as Tina would imagine him to be.

"Harry Wildfyre of House Gryffindor and Potter, contender for the throne of Albion," Picquery greeted, dipping her head. She didn't rise in the Fairest's presence.

Slowly, the Fairest turned his head towards the Red Woman. He nodded.

"You are in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of House Gryffindor and Potter, King-Emperor of the Albion Empire, the Wyrdfod, and the Fairest-of-Them-All," the Red Woman drawled.

Slowly, the Fairest took another step forward. The Dark Lord was his shadow, coldness in his eyes and dried blood beneath his nails. The Fairest lifted his chin to watch them all, taking them all in. There was a long beat of silence and then a terrifying screech. Tina couldn't help her gasp.

"What was that?" Governor Fischer snarled.

"His...dragon," Madame Picquery said, raising a pale eyebrow. "Would I be correct in assuming that, your Grace?"

The governors all shifted, uncomfortably. Picquery had addressed him with his title, establishing a precedent.

"Yes, Madame Picquery," the Fairest said and he drew his wand, flourishing it and Conjuring a seat for himself. He sat down in it and reached to the side, lacing his fingers with the Dark Lord's. "Am I correct in assuming that we are all acquainted with one another?"

"Madame," the Dark Lord drawled.

Madame Picquery's lips curled. "Lord Voldemort. And...the Red Woman?" Madame Picquery asked.

"Nymphadora Tonks," Tonks said, inclining her head. She stood to the left of the Fairest.

"Why have you come?" Governor Mary Jauncey shouted.

The Fairest leaned back in his seat, unconcerned that he was so vastly outnumbered.

"I have come because I have need of your ships and you are my subjects," the Fairest sighed.

"We are free—" Graves began.

"You are traitors," the Fairest corrected. "I do not acknowledge your freedom as freemen. You are colonists, occupying sacred creature land, and as the Wyrdfod, I will only _allow_ you to live here if you acknowledge my sovereignty over you."

"Or what?" Madame Picquery asked. It wasn't a challenge, in any way. It was a true question.

"Or you burn."

There was a long moment of silence before the Governors erupted in shrieks of denial at the quiet threat. The Fairest didn't flinch from a single one, taking the verbal abuse being hurled at him. His lips were curled into a small smile, as if this were beneath him as if he had heard every insult before.

"We are a proud people and we will fight—"

"You can't be serious—"

"You would let this foreign _whore—_ "

"Enough!" Madame Picquery shouted. She glanced at Queenie. Queenie was trembling, her eyes never straying from their...guests. The President straightened and looked back at the Fairest. The Fairest was frozen.

"You would call me 'whore'?" the Fairest whispered. Slowly, he stood. "Is that meant to be an insult?"

"Your Grace, Governor O'Brien spoke out of turn. I apologize," Madame Picquery said, immediately.

Tina glanced at the governor in question. He did not seem particularly apologetic about choice of phrase. The Fairest tilted his head, looking at the Governor.

"What say you, O'Brien?" the Fairest challenged.

O'Brien sneered. "Well, you're quite _pretty_ , your Grace. Even prettier than the pretty _whore_ you have in your company."

"I have killed greater men than you, sir, for lesser insults, and it would be no challenge to kill you where you stand," the Fairest said, coldly. Slowly, his hand dropped to his side, drawing his wand and Tina knew that it would be bloodshed.

She cringed, pulling her own wand, but just as she prepared to use it, the Dark Lord stepped forward, right in front of the Fairest, blocking him from view.

"It seems that these talks go nowhere. Your people insult my King," the Dark Lord said, his voice chilly.

"And your King insults my people by calling us his colonists," Madame Picquery sneered. She took a step back, however, backing down. Even she knew that she could not match the Dark Lord in strength. Perhaps the Fairest was an unknown entity that she was willing to challenge, but not the Dark Lord. "This goes nowhere, it seems. You've come to intimidate."

"It seems to be working if your people can only spout childish insults," the Dark Lord sneered.

"Your King's arrogance doesn't intimidate me, nor does his beauty. We will meet again, my Lord. Your Grace. But, the time for agreements is not now. I know none of your _real_ terms," Madame Picquery said, eyeing both of them. The Fairest had fought his way from around the Dark Lord, glowering furiously between the Dark Lord and Madame Picquery.

"I told you my terms," the Fairest spat.

"We will revisit an agreement when you come to me with terms that are more palatable, your Grace, or you will get nothing from me," Madame Picquery said, coldly, before she turned her gaze back to the Dark Lord. "We shall arrange a meeting. You have something on this island that is of great interest to me. For security reasons of course. Tomorrow. At noon, then?"

"We have an accord," the Dark Lord spat and then he pressed a hand to the Fairest's lower back, guiding him from the room almost immediately.

The Red Woman—the whore, O'Brien had called her—nodded once and took a step back, allowing the Dark Lord and the Fairest to pass through. She followed and then the two Death Eaters. The doors swung closed behind them.

There was only silence.

 **ON**

The door slammed shut behind them before Harry began to yell.

"How dare you?" Harry roared, turning on Tom, his finger jutting out accusatory.

"How dare I what? Defuse a situation that you escalated?" Tom demanded.

"How dare you speak over me? As if I am child? As if _I_ am not King?" Harry shrieked, shoving Tom's chest. Tom took a step backward, his eyes wide. He hadn't expected Harry to hit him, then.

 _Good._

"I understood you, but these people...they have had a taste of independence for too long. And I am a known factor. They would not cross me," Tom said as reasonably as he could.

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. "No, I am not known because you spread stories of my beauty. You do not tell them how I am powerful. How I am strong. Stronger than _you_ even, sometimes," Harry snarled and he trembled with his fury. He began to pace through the room, unable to contain it all. He stopped, looking up at Tom with burning green eyes. Low and dangerous, he whispered, "I am not your sister."

"I do not think you are," Tom protested.

"Oh, but you do. I am _not_ your puppet!" Harry roared.

Tom sighed, rolling his eyes. "You are being a _child,_ Harry."

"You let them call me a 'foreign' whore," Harry hissed, his voice low. "You would parade me like a common slut for every vile, lecherous creature to fondle himself to."

"We had no choice. We need the fleets. You know you're no whore," Tom said, keeping his voice as cold as he possibly could.

"You _weak,_ shameless, pitiful excuse!" Harry snarled, storming up to Tom and staring up at him. "You should have run him through. You should have cut out his tongue!"

"We had no _choice_. For Albion—" Tom began.

Harry threw his hand out and caught Tom on the cheek. Tom's head snapped to the side and Harry pushed him. Tom stumbled back, refusing to hit him back.

"You had every choice not to undermine me, not to treat me like a _doll_! You had every choice to defer to me as you _should_ have in that situation! I am the _King_ of Albion!" Harry roared. "Where is your honor? Where is your _strength?_ Where is your love for me?"

Harry broke down, pushing and punching at Tom's chest. Tom caught him by the wrists and tugged him in. Harry let out a terrible broken sound, slamming his fists into Tom's chests. Tom released his wrists and grabbed Harry's face, bringing it to his, and pressed his lips to Harry's in a violent kiss. Harry looped an arm around Tom's neck and pulled himself close, biting furiously at Tom's bottom lip, tasting the sharpness of blood on his tongue.

"Please…" Harry gasped as Tom tore away from him and promptly attacked his neck. He whined loudly as he felt Tom's teeth dig into the sensitive flesh of his neck, his bite nearly hard enough to draw blood.

Tom's hands were roaming, every part of Harry on fire under his palms, and he went along with it when the taller man's hands slid down to his thighs and pulled upwards. Harry jumped, wrapping his legs around Tom's waist as they stumbled, never parting for long enough to do anything but breathe. Instead, Harry ravaged and was ravaged, biting and clawing and shrieking with rage and arousal.

"What do you want from me?" Tom growled against his neck, licking over the mark blooming purple at the junction of Harry's neck and shoulder.

"Fuck me. Fuck _me_ ," Harry whispered. He drew his wand, waving it mindlessly, and grabbed blindly for the tiny vial of oil that had shot out from the side drawer.

Well, wasn't being a brothel awfully convenient.

Harry leaned forward, intent on licking his way into Tom's mouth when Tom's hands suddenly disappeared from underneath him. Harry's stomach dropped as he fell back onto the bed, the vial of oil nearly rolling out of his hands before Tom slid onto the bed, between his legs, wrestling him out of his robes.

"I'm going to make you come, Harry-sweetling. Going to make you come so hard, you're going to cry. I'm going to make sure every fucking whore in this building _hears_ you," Tom hissed in his ear and Harry couldn't help the way his cock twitched, the way his cheeks flushed red even after everything that he had done with Tom.

"Mhmm, yes, yes," he breathed, hissing when Tom finally peeled the robes off his body and pulled down his trousers, leaving him naked. Harry's breath hitched and he pouted up at the man. "You're still fully dressed."

Tom hummed, ignoring him as he pressed his lips against Harry's collarbone, moving down to lap at his nipple. His hand fell against Harry's pelvis, long fingers wrapping around his hip. Harry gasped and arched under Tom's tongue as the man teased the sensitive nub.

"You're so pretty, Harry. Did you know that?" Tom asked, looking up from underneath long eyelashes, his red eyes piercing and seeing straight through Harry's rage and confused arousal. "You're so pretty when you're hard for me."

Harry swallowed, his eyes stinging as he looked away. "Be...be nice," Harry warned softly.

It was oddly reminiscent of the first time.

Tom grinned wickedly. "I'm not a nice man, sweetling," he hissed as he closed his teeth over Harry's nipple.

Harry squirmed, breathing heavily through the teasing as Tom sucked and lapped at his nipple before he moved to the next, paying just as much attention to it until both of his nipples were bright red and hard.

"Kiss me. Kiss me now," Harry demanded and Tom did as he was _told_ , something he never did unless Harry decided to be bratty in their bed, as he was now.

And Tom kissed like he fucked. _Always_. With long sweeping moves of his tongue, licking and tasting everything inside of Harry's mouth. His large hands would cup Harry's face and he would lay almost entirely on top of him, anchoring the younger man to the bed. It was always dirty and demanding and made Harry's lips feel hot and swollen and red. Tom kissed like he was king of the world, slow and all-consuming, like he owned every single part of him.

 _After tonight, I'll always own a piece of you._

Tom pulled back to breathe. Harry lost himself in those red eyes, lost the aggravation and irritation and for a moment, lost all of that grief that he carried in his bones.

"Are you here?" Tom whispered.

Harry nodded. "I'm here."

"How shall I make you come? On my cock? On my hand? On my tongue?" Tom demanded. He didn't wait for an answer, his lips already drawing a line down Harry's jaw, biting viciously at the bruises already forming on Harry's neck.

Harry nodded vigorously.

"Yes, yes, yes," he chanted.

Tom nodded. "Turn over. Come on," he urged.

Harry rolled over, and his cheeks burned hot as they always did when he was exposed to Tom like this. Tom pulled Harry's ass cheeks apart, looking down at the puckered little hole, pink and tightly furled. He simply stared, for so long that Harry groaned in embarrassment, pressing his face into the dingy, flat pillows.

"Tom, stop _looking_. Merlin, what the fuck is wrong—" Harry snarled and then he gasped when Tom's tongue touched his hole gently, dragging down to his balls and then back up, slowly. It circled and teased the tight flesh, lightly and Harry let out a low grown.

Tom turned his face into Harry's flesh and Harry could _feel_ the man's smirk of satisfaction.

"You always shut up when I get my tongue in you. Until you start screaming," Tom murmured.

Harry whimpered softly as he felt the man's breath against his sensitive hole and then Tom's tongue began to move more firmly, pressing strong, drilling into him, penetrating him.

Harry let out a mewl that he would've been embarrassed by at any other time.

"There it is," Tom hissed, satisfaction brimming in his voice.

"Don't. Stop," Harry snarled brattily and Tom dove in again, licking and fucking his tongue in and out of Harry's hole, sucking and kissing sloppily. Harry let out keening noises, reaching down to rub his too-hard cock as he rocked into the threadbare mattress.

He was so hard that he felt that even pressing down against the sheets would be enough to get him off. Tom's hands wrapped around his waist and pulled him up, removing the stimulation from Harry's cock.

"Just my tongue, Harry," Tom hissed.

Harry rolled his hips through the air, lewdly, pushing back on Tom's tongue. Tom pulled back to admire his handiwork, Harry's asshole slick with spit, puffy and red.

"I can't...I can't…" Harry rasped, and his face felt wet with sweat and tears and he moaned loudly, uncaring that they hadn't bothered to put up a Silencing Charm or that the Lestrange brothers or Luna or even Rita Skeeter might be next door.

"Just me, Harry. My tongue. On _my_ tongue, sweetling," Tom commanded and he thrust his tongue in again and again and again until he built a rhythm, fucking Harry's hole with his tongue messily, spit sliding down Harry's crack and down the back of his balls.

Harry whined, rocking back again and again.

"Please, Tom. Your cock. Give me your cock please," Harry begged and his heart lurched because he sounded like a _whore_ , what he had told himself he'd never sound like—he'd never be what they called him—and here, he was begging, like a whore.

"How about a finger? You can come on my tongue and a finger, yes?" Tom hissed, his voice low and dark and Harry nodded, the pillow under his head wet.

"Yes, I-I can. Please," Harry rasped, squirming under Tom's hands and his tongue and his warbright eyes.

Harry gasped when he felt Tom's tongue against his hole, gentler now before he felt a familiar finger pressing up against Tom's tongue. He moaned as the man worked his finger inside, wet from only his spit and it burned, in a way that Harry hadn't known he'd liked to burn. Tom had always been, if not nice, it had never hurt. Harry had never wanted it to.

Now, he thought he'd like to hurt. _Really_ hurt.

And then, Tom pushed his finger into Harry's hole, to his knuckle and curled it just so. Harry gasped, his vision blurring as he came, his come spurting out and soaking the sheets, staining them white and Harry collapsed when Tom finally released his hips. Harry trembled through his orgasm, jerking until it was over and his chest wasn't tight anymore.

He turned his head, watching as Tom opened his trousers just enough for him to take his cock in hand and jerk it a few times before he came, white come covering his long fingers, dripping down his shaft and getting caught in the dark curls at the base of his cock. Harry reached weakly for Tom's hand and brought his fingers to his lips, licking up the bitter liquid, never breaking eye contact with the older man. Tom collapsed on the bed next to him as Harry cleaned his hand off, until Tom's hand was only sticky with drying saliva.

They were silent for a few moments and Harry turned, curling towards Tom.

"Are you still brimming with, sweetling?" Tom asked softly.

Harry smiled weakly, reaching up his hand to brush away the hair from Tom's forehead. Tom's hair curled when it was damp with sweat.

"Tom...I'm almost never really angry. Almost never. Right now, I'm just very...very tired."

Tom hummed. "Then, sleep. We'll plan tonight. Just...sleep."

"Hold me," Harry whispered and he curled against Tom, throwing one naked thigh over the man's still mostly clothed body.

Tom's arm fell heavily over his shoulders and collarbone, and finally, _finally_ , Harry slept.

 **THE**

Rowena stared out from their quarters at the small city that had sprung up around Westeron. According to Andromeda, that had all been due to the Fairest, and it grew more and more every week, with new arrivals coming from all corners of Albion to pledge their allegiance to him. Those words had sparked the question of how Andromeda had found herself pledging allegiance to Godric's grandson, but Andromeda had neatly side-stepped her father's question with a bland smile.

Rowena was always suspicious of that smile. Andromeda liked to appear harmless, when it suited her, but harmlessness didn't often reconcile with her warrior braids, the chainmail that hung off her dress. It didn't reconcile with her unnatural abilities of empathy that could tear a man's soul apart. It didn't reconcile with the memory Rowena had of her standing by as her bloodthirsty siblings tore into Rowena's family. Rowena didn't trust her. She didn't trust any of this.

"Even here, in the seat of our soror's once-castle, you sit and stare out of windows, Rowena," Salazar said with a smile. He smiled more now. He dined with his daughter in the evenings and spoke with her during the day when she was drawn out of her many meetings. Sometimes, she even came to him, asking for advice on food stores and the like.

Andromeda made Salazar feel important and relevant again. It's what Rowena more suspicious than anything else, in truth.

"What else am I to do in a prison, brother?" Rowena drawled.

Salazar scoffed. "This is no prison. Not like our last housing situation."

"If you think such a thing, you have gone senile in your old age," Rowena retorted. She pointed out of the window, her eagle eyes narrowed. "Look. There."

Salazar sighed and walked forward, looking towards where she was putting.

"What am I supposed to be seeing, Rowena?"

"That is Lucius Malfoy. Father of the boy-king, Draco Malfoy," Rowena snarled. "And _that_ is Severus Snape, at his side. _Your_ son's righthand man. There are Death Eaters in this camp, Salazar. You must be blind."

"Rowena…" Salazar said, suddenly uncertain. "Andromeda wouldn't ally with him."

"Wouldn't she? To ensure her survival? Your children swore a pact, did they not? Blood above all? Something your savage wife taught them I'm sure," Rowena spat as she thought about the Slytherins' mother. A warrior with no loyalty to anything but her own skin and her own kin.

"Rowena," Salazar said, voice sharper. He no longer looked calm or even vaguely happy. Good, he shouldn't be. He _should_ be suspicious. "We are being kept in the dark. I never made the mistake to think otherwise. But, we must exercise caution. We are outnumbered."

"So, we do nothing but wait until the Fairest returns? If he was ever here, to begin with," Rowena said, bitterly. She stared at Godric's sword, propped up against the wall in the corner. A sword had betrayed them, then. Her _brother's_ sword.

"He was here, Rowena. I am sure of it. And we are not doing nothing. We are in wait."

 **WALL**

Hermione wandered the halls of Westeron. She would never feel comfortable in castles—not after all that she had gone through at Hogwarts—but, here it was different. Here, she wasn't the future Queen which was something that would take some time to get used to. Here, she wasn't Draco's fiance, stolen and bought from treacherous Zabinis.

Here, she was only Hermione Granger, the girl that had been saved by the Order.

No one bowed or curtseyed or even said much of anything to her. She was like a ghost, and Hermione loved it. She had even wandered into the kitchen earlier, for breakfast, and no one had batted an eyelash at her. She had only been escorted towards the fire by a few house elves, who had plied her with bread and cheese and tea. Hermione had felt uncomfortable, surrounded by house elves. It reminded her of her life in Laug, in Lady Zabini's household.

She sighed to herself, shaking her head as she darted down another corridor, memorizing where she was going for future use. She was attempting to avoid Barty. At the moment, she was positive that Barty was in another meeting with Percy Weasley, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Andromeda. Hermione shivered.

If Gabrielle was there, she'd piss herself in excitement.

The Founders, in the same castle as her, little Hermione Granger.

Hermione was both intrigued and terrified. When the Fairest—Harry—returned, there was no telling what would come of everything. What would the City-States do? What would Harry do about the new interlopers? What would _Voldemort_ do?

All questions that Hermione didn't have the answers to, and she felt even more in the dark now. Before, at least, she had attended some of Draco's meetings, though she had been nothing but a trophy for him to show off. Towards the end, Hermione was sure that Draco was bringing _Daphne_ along, and that was why she was no longer necessary.

The thought put a sour taste in her mouth.

"Hermione Granger? Is that you?"

Hermione jumped and she looked up from her feet, wide-eyed.

A pair of siblings peered at her, and they were so strikingly similar, they reminded her of Fleur and Gabrielle. These siblings were redheads; one tall and gangly with broad shoulders and a spattering of freckles on his cheeks and the other shorter with a constellation of freckles on the right side of her face and a stern look in her brown eyes.

"Hello. Ron, wasn't it? And...I'm sorry, I don't remember your name," Hermione said apologetically. She blanched when she realized what their presence meant. "Wait...is the meeting over?"

"Ginny Weasley," the young woman introduced herself with, pushing her heavy braid behind her shoulder. She took a step forward, her head tilted. "The agriculture meeting? We weren't in that meeting. We're part of the war council, I suppose."

"Oh...I don't really know what goes on here," Hermione admitted. She couldn't help how put out she sounded about that. Ron's lips tilted up into a small smile.

"I used to feel put out about it too," he said.

"What happened?" Hermione demanded. "Why are you part of everything now?"

"My teacher died. Her space needed filling."

Hermione blanched. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's what happens in war. People die," Ron said so matter of factly that it made Hermione's heart ache.

"That doesn't mean I'm not sorry," she pointed out.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "We're all sorry for a lot of things. Why are you so worried about the agriculture meeting?"

"I'm not," Hermione snapped, almost petulantly.

Ginny looked at her, unimpressed.

"Try to lie better," Ginny retorted.

Hermione deflated. "I'm...I'm avoiding Barty Crouch Jr."

"The man who went out of his way to save you during the War Wedding?" Ron asked. "He's been asking after you."

"Is that what they call it? The War Wedding?" Hermione asked quietly.

"And you, the Bride of War. Everyone remembers the girl in the wedding dress with blood painted on her face. The girl who slew Blaise Zabini," Ginny asked and she sounded mildly impressed as she regarded Hermione.

Hermione didn't feel particularly impressive.

"If you don't want to see him, you don't have to," Ron piped up, helpfully. Hermione looked up at him, intrigued. "We're going into town. To see if anyone needs anything. You're welcome to help."

"Ron…" Ginny hissed uneasily.

"She killed Blaise Zabini, Ginny. She's not a _spy_ ," Ron snorted.

"We'll wait for the Lady of Whispers to decide that," Ginny retorted. She looked back at Hermione's expression of outrage and didn't look particularly upset about it.

"I'm not a _spy_. I hated Draco. Just as much as you two," Hermione said. She didn't say _if not more_ , which was what she wanted to say.

"We're not doing anything important, Gin. We're just making sure everything's moving smoothly. And I know quite a few people that'd like to meet her," Ron said matter of factly.

"Hm. Well, she's _your_ responsibility. Don't look at me if the Lady Warden or, Merlin forbid, Moody gets angry about it," Ginny said sounding a little put out.

"Who cares about fucking _Moody_?" Ron snapped. He rolled his eyes and turned to Hermione, his gaze softening somewhat into something that looked uncomfortably like pity. Hermione didn't feel very pitiful at the moment, though she must've looked it. Or perhaps he was remembering the terror in her eyes right after she had struck her stepbrother down, horrified at what she had been capable of, of what she had _done_. "You're welcome to join us. Come on. It'll be fine."

And Hermione didn't hesitate. She hadn't hesitated with the strange, broad-shouldered red-headed man had swooped in during the War Wedding—a stupid name, if anyone asked her—and she wasn't going to hesitate now. There was something about these two, even Ginny who stared at her with distrust. There was something that reminded her of her, before the veneer of glamour and gold had fallen over her at Hogwarts. They were like _her_ and that was something rare. She didn't know about Harry Wildfyre or Andromeda or the Dark Lord even the pink-haired woman, Tonks. But, these two were like her: Survivors.

So, she gave a weak smile and said, "Sure. I'll come."

 **WHO**

Seraphina wasn't unprotected when she chose to attend the meeting with only Percival, the Goldsteins, and the Scamanders. The other governors had protested wildly, insulted that they hadn't been handpicked, but Seraphina didn't trust them. O'Brien had made a grave mistake in calling the Fairest a whore, and only the Dark Lord's quick dismantling of the situation had saved the governor from a certain death.

"The Red Woman is coming," Queenie warned as they finally walked past the whorehouse, leaving Salem proper.

Seraphina stood at attention, Graves straightening next to her. They strode in step towards the beach.

"Be ready," Graves said from the corner of his mouth.

Seraphina frowned. "I don't think she's come to kill us. We'd know," Seraphina murmured and they turned their attention forward as the Red Woman approached, her hood pulled over her head. The Red Woman pulled her hood down and she looked different from yesterday.

Her hair was in spiky pink tufts, and her face was sharper. The curve of her lips was familiar.

"Hello. I don't believe I fully introduced myself. I am Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Andromeda Slytherin and Theodore Tonks," the Red Woman said. "Please, call me Tonks."

Seraphina's nostrils flared. So, this woman was a _Slytherin._

"I am Seraphina Picquery. Governor Percival Graves. Porpentina and Queenie Goldstein, my personal secretaries. Theseus Scamander, a captain of our Navy, and his brother, Newt Goldstein. A magical zoologist," Seraphina introduced.

Tonks' eyes widened as she looked at Newt. "My King will be pleased to meet you all," Tonks said, softly. "I believe that yesterday was tense because we felt cornered. But, now, we are in neutral territory."

"How so? This is still our country," Graves said gruffly.

Tonks' lips curled into a small smile. "And mine, in part. I grew up on Salem," Tonks said and then she turned on her heel, beckoning them forward. She settled next to Seraphina staring at her from the corner of her eye. "The King is informal upon your second meeting with him. Though he will continue to call you 'Madame Picquery', he would appreciate it if you'd call him Harry."

"That's...incredibly informal," Tina piped up and then promptly flushed.

Tonks hummed, nodding slowly.

"He is...odd, when he isn't in a formal setting," Tonks allowed.

Newt took in a sharp breath of air as they finally came to the beach and Seraphina tore her gaze away from the odd Red Woman to follow Newt's eyes.

Seraphina's mouth dropped open as Harry took a deep breath and smoke emerged from his nostrils. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, and suddenly it felt so much warmer. Seraphina glanced at Percival, but he looked enraptured. Harry opened his eyes again, and they burned a bright green—the color of the Killing Curse.

"What is he _doing_?" Tina gasped.

"Freia," Harry barked. " _Füir._ "

The dragon stared at him, never shifting her gaze. Harry lifted his hand out in front of him, and Seraphina gasped when she saw the white-hot fire that spiraled out of his hand. The dragon let out a roar, and a plume of white fire emerged from her mouth, spiraling with Harry's fire.

"Harry," the Dark Lord called, patiently, from where he was watching the King, flanked by his Death Eaters.

Harry jerked to a stop, pulling the white flames around him and he spun, eyes wide. His eyes fell on Seraphina and narrowed. The dragon finally noticed them and bared its long teeth, screeching violently at them. Newt gasped.

"Brilliant," he whispered.

"Freia, calm," Harry said softly. The dragon calmed under his hands, breathing only heavily through its nose, puffs of smoke emerging. It was still curled around Harry protectively, making a noise that sounded like a whine when Harry pulled away. Harry's lips curled into a smile. "Freia, it's okay."

The longer Seraphina looked at him, smiling, the more reasonable it sounded that they called him the Fairest.

"You try to appeal to my softer side with that pretty smile, your Grace?" Seraphina challenged as Harry approached them.

His green eyes flashed.

"No," Harry said, his voice cool. "And I would have you call me Harry. I thought Tonks told you that."

"Harry," Seraphina repeated.

Harry nodded. "Yes. And I invited you here so that you may see my entire hand. My ship and my dragon. This is Freia," Harry said, gesturing behind him. The dragon, Freia, screeched in greeting and Newt watched her again in awe.

"You are romantically involved with the Dark Lord," Queenie blurted out. She squeaked, slapping a hand over her mouth. Tina slapped a hand over her sister's mouth, looking at the Fairest in shock.

Seraphina looked at the Fairest, her nostrils flared. Slowly, a pink flush spread across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, down his jaw and his neck. Harry swallowed hard.

"Is that a rumor that is...circling?" Harry asked.

"My secretary is a natural Legilimens. No mind can escape her if she wills herself to know," Seraphina said, pride permeating her voice.

"Except for...well, his," Queenie said, looking over Harry's shoulder. The Dark Lord was watching, curiously. "It's like a giant blank space. You have a very loud mind, your Grace."

"Merlin," Harry groaned, embarrassed and he let out a soft snort. "Well, this...this doesn't pertain to our meeting, now, does it?"

Seraphina would argue that it did. The Dark Lord and the Fairest. It shouldn't be so much of a shock. Seraphina remembered Harry reaching to his side and lacing his fingers with the Dark Lord's.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," Percival said in her stead. He always knew what she was thinking.

"Come. Meet my party," Harry insisted and he stood at Seraphina's side, walking with her. He turned to look at her, a curious glint in his green eyes. His eyes slid past her to Queenie again. "When I came, you lurched. That was you, wasn't it?"

"Yes, your Grace," Queenie said.

" 'Harry'," Harry corrected. "Why? Because of my Tonks?"

Queenie looked at Seraphina and Seraphina nodded.

"Yes...Harry. When I heard your mind, I heard chaos and fire and all of your thoughts and fury. It was so much, so chaotic, I could barely make sense of it all. But, her mind...it is a graveyard. It is silent. Death."

Harry's eyes cut ahead and he stared at his Tonks for a long moment. She was watching him too.

"I fear we've no manners, Harry. This is Governor Percival Graves," Seraphina introduced. Harry's eyes darted back to her. "He is my right hand and Admiral of our fleet. Queenie Goldstein is the younger sister of Porpentina Goldstein. They make up my team. Then, we have Captain Theseus Scamander, and his younger brother, Newt Scamander."

"The magical zoologist," Harry said, looking at Newt immediately. Newt squirmed under that intense green gaze, and Harry beamed. "Come. Come. My Freia...you should meet my Freia."

He sounded so cheerful that it threw Seraphina. It was as if the man that had come the day before, demanding her people's subjugation had vanished. She looked at the Dark Lord again. Had that been his aspirations the day before? Was Harry Wildfyre just another puppet?

"I've never met a dragon. I've seen them. Before the Great Sleep. Morgin of Afallon rode one," Newt said in stilted sentences. Harry nodded with a grin.

"I ride her. Freia," Harry said.

"Truly? A wild beast?" Theseus asked, disbelieving. "Those aren't rumors?"

"No. And she's not a beast!" Harry protested. His gaze softened. "She's...she's mine."

They finally reached Harry's party.

"The Dark Lord, as you know. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, his followers. Tonks, his niece and my Lady of Whispers. And...where's Luna?" Harry asked curiously.

"Here, Wyrdfod."

Seraphina froze.

The voice was both familiar and it wasn't. It sounded younger and more tender, but Seraphina had heard a voice like that during the Great Sleep. It was a voice that had mocked her and tormented her, and sometimes, she still had nightmares of that voice. Slowly, they turned and Seraphina's heart was caught in her throat.

She looked so _young_ with wide greys and long silver hair. She was smaller than Seraphina remembered. Seraphina didn't remember pulling her wand.

" _Avada_ —"

" _EXPELLIARMUS!_ "

Seraphina jumped when her wand jerked out of her hand, flying into one of the Lestrange brother's hands. The Lestrange brother with the scar, Rodolphus, she thought, stepped in front of _her_ , a hard look on his face.

"Do you know who that is?" Percival demanded, his wand out.

"Do _you_?" the Dark Lord asked, his voice cold.

"It's not Pandora," Tonks drawled, sounding and looking rather bored with the proceedings.

"Well, of course, it is! Look at her!" Theseus protested, sounding almost hysterical.

"No. It isn't," Tonks bit out.

"How would you know?" Tina snarled.

Tonks' eyes narrowed. "Because I was _raised_ by Pandora."

"Don't you recognize the little girl you nearly burned at the stake?" Rodolphus Lestrange hissed angrily.

Seraphina's heart dropped from her throat to her stomach. She took a shaky step forward, ignoring Rodolphus' wand, pointed straight at her chest as she peered around him. The girl—not Pandora—hadn't flinched from any of the commotion, only staring into Seraphina's eyes. And Seraphina _did_ recognize her. Pandora's eyes had never been that shade of grey. There had never been anything resembling kindness in her eyes either.

"You're Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter. Luna," Seraphina said quietly.

Luna Lovegood stared at her, proud and compassionate and kind.

"Yes. I am," Luna said. Her voice didn't tremble.

"Stand down," Seraphina whispered. When she didn't hear movement, she whipped around, glowering angrily. "Stand. _Down._ "

Rodolphus swallowed. "What are you going to do?" he demanded.

"Move out of the way, Rodolphus. I want to speak with her," Luna said, her voice sweet despite the demand.

"Luna…" Rabastan, the other brother, began.

"Don't you start too," Luna warned. Rodolphus did as she commanded and Luna took a step forward, staring up at the Madame President. "Madame President."

"Luna. Luna Lovegood. You haven't grown very much," Seraphina said quietly. "Your mother and father were quite tall."

"I know," Luna said.

Seraphina swallowed and slowly she bent low at the waist before this young woman, humbling herself. Luna looked down at her, her eyes slightly wide. The last Lovegood took a step back when she saw the rest of Seraphina's party doing the same, bowing low at the waist.

"What are you...doing?" Harry asked curiously.

Seraphina barely paid him any mind, staring only at Luna. "Nothing that I say or do can ever earn your forgiveness or correct the mistakes that were made in the aftermath of the Great Sleep. But, I, on behalf of the Union and myself, humbly, apologize for what was done. We attempted to burn you for your mother's sins, and that was a _grievous_ , grievous mistake that has haunted me for over a decade. Even now, after I know you live, it will still haunt me, and I apologize."

Luna looked lost, as if she weren't sure what to do with herself. She glanced towards Rodolphus, but he was looking at Seraphina and the other City-Staters with sour distaste. The Dark Lord looked bored with the proceedings, but Harry was smiling, a light in his eyes that Luna didn't quite like.

"I...thank you," Luna said softly. "Please, stand."

Slowly, Seraphina stood and she turned to look at Harry, her eyes bright.

"Do you know who her mother is?" Seraphina asked.

"Yes," he said, almost defiantly.

"And you took her in, anyway," Seraphina said.

"Why should her mother's sins be paid in her blood?" Harry demanded.

Seraphina swallowed. That was the answer she'd been looking for. Seraphina had fallen short when the question had been posed to her. Harry Wildfyre hadn't hesitated, and though he was an arrogant _child_ , he had gotten it right at his young age when she hadn't. That meant there was something _more_ there, besides the beauty, the airs, the arrogance. There was something beneath the godliness. There was a man, with a heart.

"Do you have any real terms yet, Harry?" Seraphina asked coolly.

"They remain," Harry said.

And there was the Fairest. The Fairest used his beauty as both weapon and shield. Seraphina glanced at the Dark Lord, but he seemed to be making it a point not to interrupt or engage.

"If I remember correctly, you offered me two options: surrender or burn," Seraphina said.

Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps burning you all would be too hasty. I do like this City-State. Perhaps I shall establish a residence of my own," Harry said and Seraphina couldn't tell if it were a joke or a threat.

"You give us non-options," Percival said through clenched teeth.

Harry didn't look all too concerned. "I need a fleet. My people are going to die. I would do anything for my people," he said.

"And _that_ is something we can agree on," Seraphina admitted. She sighed, shaking her head. "Nothing will come of this meeting."

"Giving up so soon?" Harry retorted.

"On the contrary, your Grace," Seraphina said sharply.

"I thought I told you to call me 'Harry', Madame," Harry snapped.

Seraphina smirked. "I'm not your subject to be told what to do, your _Grace_. I will allow you one more day. Come to me tomorrow and ask again. If we do not strike a deal, then you will leave."

"Or what?" Harry retorted.

Seraphina's smirk disappeared and her eyes narrowed. "Or your empire will find itself embroiled in _two_ wars."

 **IS FAIREST**

"We cannot allow this...disrespect. They will kneel," Tom said, his voice cold. He looked towards his niece and leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "What have Skeeter's whores told you?"

Tonks leaned back in her chair. Harry cast Tom an irritated look at the use of _that_ word, but Tom didn't even glance at him. Instead, he waited for Tonks' full report.

"I left. I got out and I got lucky. I'm of noble blood. They don't trust me anymore. I've had to work," Tonks said, her voice flat. She ignored the Lestranges' wide-eyed stares.

"You...worked?" Harry whispered. "You didn't have to do that, Tonks."

Tonks' lips pressed into a thin line. "I do what I must, Harry. We've had this conversation before. Men are talkative in the throes of passion anywhere. Now, I have learned that they have not come to consensus. Grimsditch said that they would leave it to Picquery."

"Then, we know nothing," Rodolphus decided, collapsing into a chair. "Are we to declare war on the City States as well?"

"They are colonies, nothing more," Tom retorted. "They have a fleet and no central military. All it would take is gathering the Governors in one room and _massacring_ them."

Harry's eyes widened at the implication.

"We can't."

Harry thought that he had said those words until he realized it had been Luna. They all turned to the pale young woman. She sat on the bed, cross-legged, her eyes closed. Slowly, she opened them, her silvery eyes glowing.

"What do you mean 'we can't'?" Tom sneered.

Luna blinked, long and slow. "I mean that we cannot massacre them. Harry, you cannot dominate everyone. You cannot conquer this place," Luna said, softly. She stood from the bed, as graceful as a gazelle and she crossed to him, taking one of his hands in both of hers.

"What can I do, then, Luna?" Harry asked, harshly. "I am their King and they do not acknowledge it."

"They are without a King. They are no longer _yours_ ," Luna said, softly. "They weren't even your grandfather's. They left before your grandfather and his cohorts took their thrones. They are a free people. And you cannot afford two wars."

"They are a people of traitors," Tonks spat.

Luna's face contorted. "And you were one of them."

"Never by any choice of mine," Tonks snapped, standing to her feet. Luna nearly flinched away until she found her resolve and shook her head.

"Harry, if you _must_ lord over them the fact that you are head of state, establish a Commonwealth. Become head of a Commonwealth, but let them govern themselves. But, you cannot think to gain their ships by demanding it," Luna said. She cleared her throat. "These are not the Alfheimeans. You cannot blackmail them. This is not the Lady Warden of the West, whom you can give a lost child. This is not Karnaron, which you lay claim to. These are a free and noble people who escaped men and women that looked very much like you."

"Looked like me?" Harry asked, his lips curling.

Luna nodded once. "Men and women with power with no bounds and beauty that terrified the masses. Your beauty is not always a gift. It is a weapon, and these are people that know to fear it."

"He is the Wyrdfod! He cannot submit!" Tonks snapped.

"And that means nothing to them!" Luna retorted. "It means something to _us,_ but that means nothing to them. Titles mean nothing to them. Wealth means nothing to them. Only control and power and they want to keep their autonomy."

"If he submits, he looks weak," Tom murmured.

"Then, let him look weak, my Lord," Rodolphus said, quietly. Tom and Tonks looked at the Death Eater, surprised by his words. "Weakness is not always so, my Lord."

Tom shook his head. "I never took you for a fool, Rodolphus. What say you, Rabastan?" Tom demanded.

"I don't know. I...I don't have a mind for politics, sir," Rabastan said, weakly. When he saw Tom's irritation, he hastily added, "I see merit…in both points."

Luna's eyes narrowed.

"You are blind," Luna spat at the Dark Lord. "You are blind to your own faults."

"Watch your tongue, _girl_ ," Tom said, slowly drawing his wand.

Luna shook her head. "I am not your servant any longer. I serve the Wyrdfod," Luna snarled. And then she turned on Harry, her eyes wild. "If you listen to these power-hungry Slytherins, you are a proud fool that is unworthy of your title."

"Do not call me a Slytherin," Tonks roared.

Luna laughed, softly. "You cannot help your blood," she said, dismissively. Tonks swallowed her gasp, shaking her head. Luna dropped Harry's hand and stormed to the doorway of the room. "Use your own mind, your Grace. You are the Wyrdfod, and if you mean to truly be worthy, then you will do what you must to make the alliance _peacefully._ "

Harry flinched from her scarring words, his eyes wide. "Luna, I am the King—"

Luna scoffed, shaking her head. "Your pride will be your undoing," she whispered, her voice trembling. She stormed out, leaving them in silence.

 **OF**

Harry walked the grounds of Madame Picquery's manor, and he had to admit that it was stunning. He wondered if she knew that he was there. He had made no secret of tearing into her wards. He wanted her to know what he was capable of. But, if she knew, she hadn't sent any guards out at all. She didn't seem to be worried about her safety one bit. Harry wondered if that was hubris or a genuine belief that she could beat him in a duel.

Harry scoffed. There were scarier and far more powerful people in the world than Seraphina Picquery, no matter what she believed. He was one of them.

He reached up to brush his fingers against the velvet petals of the violently red and yellow Umbrella flowers that bounced through the air, pushed to and fro by the slightest of breezes. A Whomping Willow twisted and twitched at the edge of the property, as if waiting for someone to approach. Harry was tempted to do so and he walked closer, wondering if and when it would lash out. He had no idea how to stop it, but nor could he stop his morbid curiosity.

Until he saw the boy.

The boy standing by the trunk. The Willow's branches were violently snatching out at squirrels and birds and fairies, and curiously, the gnomes that were flitting around it, reveling in the relatively peaceful night. But, it didn't seem to lash out at the boy. In truth, the Willow seemed to shy away from the boy standing at its trunk, as if afraid—no, _terrified_.

"Who are you?" the boy called.

"I'm Harry Wildfyre. Who are you?" Harry whispered.

The boy was thin, almost wane, with dark eyes that spoke of pain. His hair curled around his face. He was beautiful. Harry took a step closer, and then winced when he felt something wild and powerful swirling around him, lashing out. Harry's lips parted.

"You're like me," the boy murmured, staring at him in wonder.

"Y...yes," Harry agreed, hesitantly.

He took another step forward, and this time, he didn't hesitate. The boy was unafraid, staring at him with wide dark eyes. His lips curled into almost cherubic smile.

"I'm Credence. Credence Graves," the boy said. "You shouldn't be here. Did you sneak onto the grounds?"

Harry's eyes widened. " 'Graves'?" he murmured.

"Mister Graves... _Percival_ …" and he said this, as if to remind himself, "is my husband."

"What are you?" Harry asked.

A new question. One just as important as the first.

Credence hummed. "That...is an interesting question. Mr. Scamander—Newt—says that I am an Obscurial."

"An Obscurial? Is that a creature?" Harry asked. "Tom...Tom didn't say anything about an Obscurial."

"Tom?" Credence asked, pleasantly.

"It's...well, he's the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord Voldemort," Harry said.

Credence's smile twitched. "Percival says that the Dark Lord isn't a very good man."

Harry bit his lower lip.

"He isn't."

"He's good to you, though." Credence said it with such conviction that Harry looked at him again with his bright green eyes. Credence held out his hand. "Walk with me, Harry Wildfyre."

Harry took his hand without question. Together, they walked through the orchards, away from the Whomping Willow, staring at the low-hanging fruit.

"So, what's an Obscurial?" Harry asked.

"It's...it's the bad...Percival says I shouldn't call it 'the bad thing'. He says magic isn't bad. My magic isn't bad. It's just...wild," Credence said, choosing his words very carefully. He looked at Harry from the corner of his eye. "Many are afraid of me. It's why...I don't go outside very often."

"My magic is wild too. People are afraid of me too. I'm afraid of me," Harry blurted out. He flushed, his eyes wide as he looked up at Credence. "I...don't know why I said that."

Credence only beamed down at him.

"It is good that you are honest," Credence said. "I'm afraid of me too."

The silence descended and it was a comfortable silence. It wasn't the type of comfortable silence that Harry only felt with Tonks or Tom. It was the type of comfortable silence that one reveled in when alone. Harry felt... _alone._

"I feel like I know you," Harry said.

Credence smiled, his plush lips curling into a bow. "Perhaps you do."

It was cryptic and Harry's nose wrinkled in annoyance.

"You are...kind to me. For someone who is on the opposite side," Harry said.

"You see me as your opponent already, Harry Potter?" Credence asked.

"No one calls me that," Harry scoffed, shaking his head.

Credence tilted his head. "Why not?"

"My parents gave me a warrior's name. Harry Wildfyre, for on the day that I was born, summer died and was reborn once more," Harry said. He said it as if reciting something out of a text. Credence smiled softly.

"A warrior's name? They would call me Credence Nightmare," Credence sighed. "Mr. Gra—Percival would call me Credence Gentle-Heart, but that isn't very scary, is it?"

"Nightmare?" Harry asked.

Credence hummed, looking up at the stars. "My darkness was born of the Great Sleep. Pandora's dreams affected all of us differently."

"I hear so many things about Pandora. So many conflicting things, and yet, no one will tell me much of anything," Harry complained.

"You don't want to know," Credence said. He turned towards Harry fully. "Why don't you claim your father's name?"

"Well...it's not exactly carrying the weight of 'Gryffindor', now, is it?" Harry challenged.

Credence frowned. "It is your father's name. It isn't a king's name. It is the name of a man. Harry Wildfyre is the name of a god, the name of the Wyrdfod, but Harry Potter…that is a man. You should appeal to them as a man," Credence said.

"How do you know about 'Wyrdfod'?" Harry snapped. "Everyone seems to know about that, now."

"I listen to things I'm not supposed to," Credence said, sounding nearly embarrassed. He looked away, his cheeks burning hot.

"You call your husband 'Mr. Graves'. Why?" Harry asked.

"It's what I knew him as, at first. And how I fell in love with him. It's a habit. What do you call the man you love?" Credence asked.

Harry flushed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Credence rolled his eyes. "It was all Tina and Queenie could talk about after you met today. Queenie saw the Dark Lord in your mind. Touching you...as my husband touches me," Credence said, his lips turning bright red and Harry rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"Sex doesn't mean anything," Harry said firmly.

Credence stared at him. "What does that mean?"

"Sex doesn't suggest love, is all," Harry snapped, already finished with the direction the conversation was heading in. "I should know. I traded my virginity to the Dark Lord for his loyalty. In perpetuity."

"Truly?" Credence asked.

"Why would I lie?" Harry hissed. He regretted it immediately when Credence flinched, nearly tugging their hands apart. "I'm sorry."

"It's just...Queenie said that you adored him. That she could feel how truly in love you were with him. I thought...she thought it was returned," Credence said quietly.

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

"Well, it's not. I _am_ in love with him. Truly. Desperately. It doesn't matter to him. I am his way to freedom. His way out. His whore. I am so desperate for his affection that I spread my legs for him whenever he asks, as if I am a _whore_ ," Harry spat out, trembling with fury and self-loathing.

Credence flinched at every nasty word.

"You are not... _that_. He wouldn't call you that, would he? He defended you when Governor O'Brien called you that...that _word_ ," Credence retorted. Suddenly, he seemed smaller. "Didn't he?"

"No. He didn't," Harry hissed.

And he'd never needed Tom to defend him about that. Harry was used to those words, and he'd grown enough that he could snap about it. He had grown enough to know that he wasn't a whore or a slut or a bitch. So, he hadn't _needed_ Tom to defend him.

But, he would've liked it.

And then, though Harry had begged for it, Tom had treated him like a whore in their bed, had made him cry and beg for it. Harry had allowed himself to be treated like a whore, and so it was what he came.

 _You are not a whore._

Harry flinched away from the memory of Tom's voice.

"You are just a man," Credence said, and he sounded almost in awe. "We have heard so many fantastical things about you. Unbelievably, extraordinary things. But, you are just a man."

He sounded pleased.

"I am just a man," Harry whispered back, defeated.

"She will not bow to you. None of them will. Especially not my husband," Credence murmured.

Harry frowned. "I will make them bow."

"You can't," Credence whispered, frantic and hurried as he pulled away from Harry, backing away towards the Madame Picquery's Manor. "Harry, I believe that you are _good_ and _kind._ And I believe that you will do what you must to secure this alliance."

 **THEM ALL?**

Harry stood in front of the Governors, once again feeling like he was on trial. He didn't look back at Tom or Tonks. Instead, he took another step closer, scanning each of their faces. All of them stared back impassively, though they fidgeted. So, no one would give him a clue.

Except...Harry looked up at the black swirling mass that writhed and spat against the ceiling. Harry glanced at Madame Picquery who walked up to him, her staff in hand as she approached. Harry took his eyes away again and looked up at _Credence_.

Perhaps, Madame Picquery _had_ sent out a guard that night. And Harry had _stupidly_ trusted him, spilling his secrets out because he felt an immediate sort of trust, the kind of trust that he had immediately felt for Tonks when they had first met. He was so fucking _stupid._

"Have you made your decision?" Harry asked, never looking away from Credence.

Madame Picquery nodded once. "I have. You are powerful and have the capability to raze us to the ground. But, I have been told that you will not."

"Is that what you've been told?" Harry asked, finally looking at her, his lips curling into a wry smile.

"Yes. I have it on good authority. So, I will not bow to you," Madame Picquery said.

"Unaccept—" Tonks began.

Harry held up a hand, shaking his head once. Tonks fell silent as Harry looked at Madame Picquery.

"What do you propose instead? I need your fleet and you need me."

"How so?" Madame Picquery asked.

"The City-States are reliant on trades with the Republic and Afallon. I control Afallon. I control you. So, how will we reconcile, woman? Gold? Military?" Harry asked.

Madame Picquery lifted her chin. "You acknowledge our independence. You acknowledge _our_ republic and stop with your childish claims that we are your _colonies_. We are _finished_ with sovereigns. We are finished with kings and queens," Madame Picquery snarled. "We are a democratic republic."

"Are you?" Harry asked, his amusement clear.

"Here's what I have for you: this is our declaration of independence. 'We hold this truth to be self-evident, that all creatures—mortal or otherwise—are created equal, that are endowed by the Seven with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure—'" she begins.

"How _hypocritical_ ," Harry snarled, taking a step forward, his eyes flashing. "You spit these 'unalienable rights' at me and you deny it to the people that lived here before you. You didn't discover these lands. You _colonized_ them. I come here to stop that. This land doesn't _belong_ to you. I am the Wyrdfod—"

"We made mistakes!" Madame Picquery roared, cutting him off. Harry's eyes widened. "We made terrible, _terrible_ mistakes, and we paid _dearly_ for them. But, I will not bow to another sovereign. I do not look it, but I am a hundred years old, boy. I lived through the _savagery_ that your predecessors and the Tabooed rained down on Albion. I was placed into what was to be an eternal sleep but was truly a _nightmare_. I will not do it again."

"Then, we are at an impasse," Harry whispered.

Madame Picquery shook her head. "There is no impasse. I am the President of the United City States of Freedom. Your _dragon_ doesn't scare me. Your _attack dogs don't scare me. You_ don't scare me. I am not _afraid_ of _you_. And that must needle you. That I am not afraid. Harry Wildfyre, I have not been afraid for a long time."

Harry stared at the woman, coldly.

"You are a fool," he hissed. "If Narcissa Slytherin wins—"

"It will be your own fault."

"How so?" Harry roared.

"Because you refuse to do what you must," Madame Picquery said, taking another step back. "You are but a man. You are no god and right now, you are no _king_. You refuse to do what you must. What is _necessary_."

"What I must?" Harry demanded, trembling with rage. "What is necessary?"

And Madame Picquery smiled, slow and cold. " _Humble_ yourself."

Harry trembled as the Governors watched him. Madame Picquery watched him. He could feel Tom and Tonks' eyes on his back. He looked up at Credence again and wondered if this was what it would take. Harry felt his eyes sting with tears. He had not felt so helpless since he was at the Dursleys, and he hated it. In that moment, he _hated_ Madame Picquery more than Narcissa, more than Draco, more than anyone.

Harry closed his eyes and slowly got to his knees before the President and the Governors of the United City States of Freedom. He could hear the sharp intake of Tonks' breath and he trembled with the humiliation of it all as he bowed his head forward.

"Who are you to come to the United City-States of Freedom?" Madame Picquery demanded.

Harry ground his teeth. "I am Harry Potter, Madame President."

"Who am I?" the President said.

"Madame Seraphina Picquery, President of the...United City-States of Freedom."

"And why do you come?" she snapped.

"I need...your assistance," Harry whispered. "I am the rightful King of Albion and I have been usurped. I am in need of your ships. Please. Help me."

Slowly, he looked up at Madame Picquery and she was holding out a hand to him. Harry shuddered as he reached up and took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet. She didn't let go, staring at him with deeply probing eyes.

"We are equals from this moment until we are dust," Madame Picquery said. "I do not help sovereigns. I help equals. And I will help you, Harry Potter."

"Yes," Harry whispered.

Madame Picquery dropped his hand and she turned her back on him. She lifted her hand towards the Governors, but the screaming writhing black cloud of magic dropped from the ceiling, spinning inwards and leaving Credence Graves in its wake.

"Credence—" Percival Graves began.

Credence ignored his husband, peering delicately at Harry.

"Harry," Credence murmured in greeting.

Harry stared blankly at him. "Credence."

Credence looked saddened and he drifted backward, going to his husband's side. Harry stared at Madame Picquery's back.

"A third of our fleet to support the King of Albion's claim, I nominate. As ambassadors, I nominate the Scamander brothers and the Goldstein sisters. What say you, Governors?" Madame Picquery called.

Graves hesitated until Credence squeezed his shoulder. "Seconded," Graves called. "All in agreement call 'aye'?"

A rousing sound of agreement boomed through the chamber. Harry refused to flinch.

"Motion passed," Madame Picquery said and she turned back to Harry. "The preparations begin immediately. You will leave in a day's time."

"Understood," Harry said, stiffly. He didn't move as she approached him again. "I suspect we will meet again, Madame President."

He wasn't sure if it was a promise or a threat.

"I am counting on it...your Grace."

Harry backed away from her and then turned on his heels. The two Slytherins watched him—Tonks with sadness and Tom with rage. Tonks reached out to him, but Harry swept past her before she could. Tom spat under his breath, hissing so much that he must have been speaking in Parseltongue. Harry ignored it all, so very far away.

He didn't cry.

:::

 **A/N:** Hoped you liked that.

Sorry that it took so long. I was so utterly stuck for a long time because it was getting so dark, and I didn't know what to do, especially when I've already outlined the thing. And then, I wrote "Diagnosis" and that took ALL of my attention, with the reaction to it, so this fell on the backburner since it's got a smaller audience and is MUCH harder to write. Then, when I was finally ready to get back to this, I had to refresh my memory and read all my old outlines, the last few chapters of Cinders and the first chapters of Grymmr, and I was finally feeling like I could get back in the writing style of THIS story, as opposed to Diagnosis.

That being said, I apologize. Pretty shitty of me. Hopefully, I'll be a little more regular with this one so I can fucking finish a fic, which I've only managed to do once. You'll be glad to know this is outlined to the very end so the chances of me not finishing are exponentially slim, outside of me being killed in a freak accident.


	36. Chapter Thirty

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Thirty

She sat before the mirror alone. She was alone and yet, she was not. Sometimes, if she watched, unfocused, she could see the shape of a girl. Narcissa knew this shape better than the back of her hand. It was seared into her memory, so deep that to remove the memories of Helena Ravenclaw, she was be tearing out herself. _Helena. Helena. Helena._ Narcissa never looked too closely. If she did, Helena would leave her.

"Lady Chancellor…" Dolohov began.

Narcissa hushed him. She glanced over her shoulder, looking him up and down. He was naked again, fresh scars on his body that hadn't been there before the War Wedding. She sneered. What an unsightly name. Only peasants could come up with something so stupid. Narcissa's gaze trailed down that broad chest, to his tapered waist, the heavy set of cock and balls between his leg. She licked her lips. She was still sore.

Narcissa would ride him again. But, only after she was done.

"Bring it to me," Narcissa commanded.

Dolohov took a step forward, hesitating, offering the blood splattered crystal platter. Narcissa reached forward, the long silver iron nails spearing the soft pulpy red mess. She brought it to her face, sniffing it delicately and she moaned. She smeared it across her lips, bringing fresh blood to her chin. Narcissa looked in the mirror again.

The lower half of her face was a mess of dried blood, strings of muscle hanging from her teeth. She opened her blood-soaked mouth around the raw snake heart and swallowed it whole, feeling it slide down her throat.

"What is this intended to do?" Dolohov asked, carefully. "I ask only out of concern."

"Be less concerned," Narcissa instructed, coolly. "I only do what I must. Where's the rest of the body?"

"You intend to eat that too?" Dolohov asked. "What is the purpose of this?"

"The heir of the family consumes a raw snake's heart," Narcissa barked. Her eyes narrowed and she lurched as once more her stomach rebelled, burbling deep inside of her. "But, I am the last, true Slytherin."

"This is Dark magic. Black magic," Dolohov murmured as he brought the rest of the snake's carcass to her side. It looked so much like Nagini and Narcissa's eyes narrowed, wondering what would happen if she found her brother's snake, still spying on her in the castle. She would rip Nagini apart and eat her while she still lived.

She would want _him_ to feel it.

No. That couldn't be true. Narcissa very much remembered seeing Severus with the great beast running from the castle. Severus. And at her side had been Narcissa's husband. Lucius. The man she had once loved in her silly youth. The man that had _left_ her.

 _They all leave_ , Helena's shadow seemed to mock her from the edges of the mirror. _We all leave._

Narcissa bared her teeth. "I will swallow a snake _whole_ if it makes me the Heir of Slytherin."

 **MIRROR**

Harry found himself lost in the clouds. Freia's wings spread wide, cruising them through the air as the sun began to set. There was nothing but open ocean, and for once, Harry wasn't eager to find himself back at Westeron. He thought that if he could fly on Freia's back forever, he would be content. He nestled deeper to her burning hot scales, his eyes closed from the air rushing past them.

'Harry Potter'.

It was a name that he had never used for himself. It was a common man's name, and Harry had never wanted to be common again. Common people were abused. Common people were called whores and thrown away. Common people were abandoned.

Harry had never wanted to feel that.

And they had seen it. Tom and Tonks and the Lestranges. They had witnessed him sink to his knees before that woman and rage burned through his belly. They had witnessed his humiliation, and that would stain him forever. He was beautiful in their eyes, perfect. Perhaps, he had once been a means to an end, but now, they loved him, as long as he was perfect. As long as he didn't fuck up.

He had fucked up.

Freia let out a screeching sound. She was falling down through a break in the clouds, flying back towards the ship, circling it. Harry sighed. He knew what that meant. She thought it was time for him to eat. When they had left the City-States, he had done so on her back, and he had only been off her back twice—each time to eat a quick meal and then to sleep. Now, she wanted him off. She was worried.

"I'm fine, Freia," he warned her over the wind.

She screeched and came to float perpendicularly to the side of the boat. She turned her great, long neck to stare at him with a bright yellow eye. Harry huffed, rolling his eyes as he turned and watched as he threw one leather wing over the edge of the boat. He made a quick job of it, crawling down her wing and then standing steadily on the deck. As soon as Freia knew that it was safe, she took off, screeching, her teeth bared.

"Make sure you eat something, Freia! Birds! Or fish! Something!" he shouted after her.

Harry really wasn't sure if she heard him. He sighed and made to go to his room again.

Harry only took one step on the deck before a man stepped into his path. Harry looked up and winced, looking away from the warbright eyes. He took a step back, preparing to leap back onto Freia's back when an arm looped around his waist and a hand pressed his chin up, turning him so that he couldn't turn away.

"No more running," Tom said quietly.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry hissed, closing his eyes. "Now, let me go."

"No."

Harry's eyes flashed open. "You say no to your king?" he demanded.

Tom's eyes flashed with amusement, and Harry's ire only grew as Tom looked at him with that dismissive smile. He struggled, pushing harder against Tom's chest. Tom stumbled forward instead, making Harry's back press against the edge of the ship.

"You push me and you fall into the ocean," Tom teased.

"What the _fuck_ do you want?" Harry snarled.

Tom shook his head. "I raised you from urchin to prince to king. I'm most likely the only person to ever tell you no," Tom said and he lowered his face, pressing it against Harry's neck. Harry's breath hitched and he shivered. "No more running."

"That wasn't supposed to happen," Harry whispered, and he slowly lifted his hands, burying his fingers in the back of Tom's robes as he clung to the man. "It wasn't...that wasn't...that wasn't supposed to happen. The...the last time I was on my knees...I was nobody."

Tom hummed. "You are someone. You're the Wyrdfod. You are the King. You are Harry Wildfyre. You are Harry Potter."

"E-excuse me, your Grace?"

Tom jerked away as if he had been stung, and Harry felt anchorless for just a moment before he brought himself to reality. He looked around Tom, and blood rushed to his cheeks in embarrassment. The redhead Scamander brother—Newt—had averted his eyes, but his brother and two female companions watched, openly curious. Porpentina's lips were parted, a sharp breath of air exhaled.

"Yes," Harry whispered. He slid his hands up Tom's back, holding himself against the man. Tom wouldn't go far.

"I mean to talk to the Dark Lord. The Lestrange brothers and I have been discussing logistics concerning the fleet that will come after us. I hear that Afallon doesn't have a true port," Theseus said, still ogling them.

Harry nodded and pressed his hands harder into Tom's back, feeling the warmth of the man's body under his hands before he let his hands drop to his side. Tom spun around, his gaze carefully blank once more. He clasped his hands behind his back and strode forward, leading Theseus and Porpentina. Porpentina glanced over her shoulder, her worried gaze darting from her sister to Newt and then to Harry. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Harry smirked, wiggling his fingers at her. When she was gone, he turned back to Queenie and Newt. Queenie looked amused.

"Was there something else you needed?" Harry asked, curiously.

"What you did today took a lot of courage. I admire that," Queenie said softly.

Harry winced, cutting his gaze away. He looked up at the sky and watched the shadow Freia swathed through the sky, his eyes softening.

"You think of her as your child. She reacts to you as she might to a mother."

Harry looked back at Newt, his eyes wide. Newt cringed away from his attention.

"Does she?" Harry asked, taking a step forward. "How can you tell?"

"Her loyalty and the way she protects you. I...it's an interesting phenomenon. May I ask...were you there when she was born?" Newt asked, his curiosity overcoming his nerves.

Harry nodded. "She was...she was in my parent's tomb. And I was so...grief-stricken and I released my fire, and she was born in my hands. Born in my fire."

"So, you were probably the first thing she ever saw. How remarkable," Newt said with awe in his voice. He looked at Harry again, tilting his head. "You respect her. You treat her as if she is her own entity. Not like she's a weapon."

"She's not!" Harry retorted immediately. "She's...she's just baby."

"She really isn't," Queenie piped up. She grinned when Harry glared at her. "I'm not scared of you, you know."

"Oh, really? You were _terrified_ just a few days ago," Harry sneered.

"And then you showed who you were. And I'm much more afraid of the Red Woman than I am of you," Queenie said, waving away Harry's irritation.

"Why are you afraid of Tonks?" Harry asked.

Queenie rocked back and forth. "I told you. Her mind is full of silence. Silence brought by Death. Silence is the most terrifying thing in the world," Queenie said firmly. She looked at Harry with a tiny grin. "But, _your_ mind is full of noise. Chaotic and full of love. Love for your people, for your dragon, for your Dark Lord. I like it. It's soothing."

Harry took that as an odd compliment.

"She's really still a baby," Newt said as if he hadn't heard a single word of their conversation. "A sweet one. Protective of her mum."

Harry flushed. "I'm not her mum. Merlin. Don't say that in front of my council. They'll start calling me something silly. They like to give me stupid titles. 'Fairest of Them All'. Next, they'll be calling me something ridiculous like the 'Mother of Dragons'."

Queenie's nose wrinkled.

"Yes, that's not very good, is it?"

"No, it is not. Especially as I am, if you hadn't noticed, a _man_ ," Harry said firmly. He turned to Newt, a curious look in his eyes now. "You know a lot about dragons. They've been extinct for a long time."

"Not for me," Newt corrected. "Before the Great Sleep, I worked on a dragon preserve. I ran when...when Morgin of Afallon began to murder anyone that had access to her dragons."

Harry nearly shivered. He wasn't going to touch that one. He straightened, crossing his arms and striding forward. Newt took a stumbling step back, his cheeks turning pink.

"Well, then. Come join me for bread and mead. I want to know more about dragons. I think you're the expert on these things and you can teach me a thing or two. You're welcome too, Queenie."

 **MIRROR**

Fleur watched from the shadows as Gabrielle's fist crunched against another man's cheekbone. The man stumbled from the heavy blow, crashing back into the inn's wall. Fleur moved forward almost silently, reaching one hand down and pulling the young woman up to her feet. The brown-faced, brunette woman was barely out of girlhood. She'd probably gotten her blood only a year ago and already she was being exposed to the cruelty of men.

"S-she's going to kill him," the girl whimpered.

Fleur's nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply. Gabrielle's wand was in her other hand now and she flicked it sharply. The man flew farther down the alley, rolling and tumbling. He lurched onto all fours and vomited, the sickening smell of bile mixing with the already revolting scent of shit and piss.

"Most probably," Fleur said. She looked at Gabrielle again. For the first time in days, she looked alive, blood spattering her cheeks.

Gabrielle was staring at something beyond the man. Was it another vision? Gabrielle was getting visions. Whenever she got into fights—in the pubs, outside of the inns, anywhere—she said that she would see Baba Yaga.

"T-that's illegal. S-she can't," the girl whispered.

Fleur stared down at the girl. "He tried to rape you. Rapists don't deserve life. And she knows how to get rid of a body," she said coolly. "Hurry along, girl. You don't want to see the end. And hurry up, Gabrielle."

The girl did as Fleur commanded, running from the alleyway, her eyes darting back and forth at the nearly empty street. Gabrielle jerked, looking behind Fleur, a blankness in her eyes. Gabrielle drew her sword and slammed it down, straight into the man's gut. The man jerked under her blade and Gabrielle drove it down farther and farther until the man stilled. Gabrielle waited for the twitch and the smell of shit before she pulled her blade free, wiping either side on the man's pants.

"He deserved it," Gabrielle snapped, roughly.

Fleur's eyes narrowed. "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it. And...And Baba Yaga said he did. That's he done it to others," Gabrielle said, her voice softer. She took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"We'll need to go to another inn. He was the bartender, Gabrielle," Fleur snarled.

Gabrielle didn't flinch. "I didn't know that. I wouldn't've…"

"Don't lie," Fleur warned.

Gabrielle looked away, her gaze cold and she stepped away from the body and walked out of the alleyway, uncaring that anyone could find the corpse. Fleur followed after her, silent. Once upon a time, Fleur might've protested, but now, she sensed that Gabrielle... _needed_ this, for some reason. If she didn't go out and hunt, she would go stir-crazy in their rented rooms, speaking softly to the mirror, to her reflection. Whenever Fleur asked about it, Gabrielle would say that she was talking to Baba Yaga or the Red Woman. Fleur didn't know who the Red Woman was.

They walked past the old inn and ventured deeper into the city of Velothi. They had stayed in nearly every inn by the docks, but further in, the inns got nicer and, thus, more expensive. Fleur sighed. The could make it a week there before they'd either need to find work or resort to stealing, and Fleur wasn't sure if she was willing to steal.

They came to a stop and Fleur grabbed Gabrielle's hand, pulling her through the door.

The Toad and Shrew Inn was a large two-story timber-framed building with high vaulted ceilings. It was quite nice, much nicer than the inns that the sisters had been occupying before, adjacent to the brothels. Fleur made her way past the drunken guests and those that were less so until she was just in front of the barmaid. The barmaid was quite tall with generous curves, long blonde curls, and bright green eyes.

"Hello. We're looking for a room?" Fleur asked, softly.

The woman turned from her customers at the end of the bar, raising an eyebrow.

"Who's asking?" she barked.

"Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour," Fleur said.

"Nice to meet you. You sound like you're from the Republic, yeah?" the barmaid asked, sounding only vaguely interested as she ran a rag over the large tin cups that were stacked on a shelf behind her. "You look like Veela."

"Yes, we're from the Republic," Fleur said and she looked around the bar in wonder. There were so many people here. Witches and wizards sitting with a _vampire_ and two goblins in the corner playing chess. "We're not used to seeing so many... _creatures_."

Fleur couldn't help whispering the word.

"Nah, it's alright. You've come a long way from a very different place, I imagine," the barmaid said, her Essetirean accent heavy as she stressed the end of every word. "I'm Rosmerta, the bartender and night manager of this humble establishment. Welcome to the Toad and Shrew Inn. I think I know what you two need: a nice room, a hot meal, and a bath."

Rosmerta's nose wrinkled and Fleur was shocked when a bubble of laughter exploded from Gabrielle's lips. Fleur looked at her, alarmed, but Gabrielle looked at ease. It almost seemed like...a mask.

"I think I'd have to agree," Gabrielle said. "I've read all about Albion, you know. All about it and its relationship with creatures, and well, I've never met a creature openly, besides my sister. Are they well-received here?"

"As long as you pay your taxes, you live here," Rosmerta said. She leaned forward, looking over at them curiously. "I've got some Fae blood, down the line, I think. What are you exactly? I don't like being misled, so you go on and tell the truth."

"We're Veela," Fleur said quietly.

"One of the Fae too, then. You've picked a dangerous time to come from the Republic," Rosmerta said.

"Dangerous?" Fleur asked.

"There's a war going on, lass," Rosmerta said, nodding. She moved towards a pair of dwarves that had settled themselves at the bar. "I was looking to go to Hogsmeade, you know, before this mess. Was going to buy me a pub and everything. But, that'll have to wait, now. Until the war is over."

"King Draco and Wildfyre," Gabrielle murmured to herself.

Rosmerta peered at them, uneasily. She rubbed her arms, looking away for a long moment before she turned back to look at the Delacour sisters.

"You shouldn't go around speaking the name too loud. Words have power, got that?" Rosmerta asked. Gabrielle fought the urge to smirk. She knew all too well of the power of names. "Look, if you're talking about who I think you're talking about, you'd best not go looking for trouble. You two seem like nice girls and you don't want to get involved. The Empire may be better than the Republic, for creatures, but there's a civil war happening here. Outside of Velothi—Essetir, really—you're on your own. Don't be saying that name too loud in my inn."

Fleur looked over at Gabrielle, but Gabrielle hadn't looked away from Rosmerta.

"What do you have to eat?" Gabrielle asked abruptly.

Rosmerta relaxed. "We had a good haul this week, so we've got a lot of seafood. Some crayfish and feck-crabs. Feck-crabs are good meat, but awfully expensive. If you're not looking to spend too much, I can get you a duck roast and date pie with a glass of ale for ten sickles each."

"And the room?" Fleur asked.

"That'll be two Galleons a night," Rosmerta said.

Gabrielle's mouth was still watering from the idea of food. She hadn't eaten well since...Fenrir. She winced as she thought about her dead lover. She had tried not to think about him since she had disembarked. She turned away, hiding her face from Fleur. Rosmerta wasn't watching him, still troubled by Gabrielle's mention of Wildfyre.

If only Rosmerta knew. If only she knew about Gabrielle's constant visions of Baba Yaga. If only she knew how Fleur's wheel commanded them to travel West.

"That sounds good. We haven't eaten real food in a long time," Fleur was saying. "Seafood, please?"

"Coming right up. We don't have much in the way of bread. Afallon is controlled by... _him_ , and King Neville hasn't figured out a way to grow suitable crops this far East," Rosmerta said apologetically. "The climate isn't well suited."

"King Neville?" Fleur asked as Rosmerta pulled out a quill and began jotting their orders down on a slip of parchment.

"The King in the East. The King of Essetir," Rosmerta said distractedly.

The Delacour sisters exchanged glances.

"A lot has changed since we started sailing," Fleur muttered under her birth, dipping her head down and nodding.

"I suppose it has. The War of Three Kings, they're calling it," Rosmerta said. She snapped her fingers, setting down the quill, and Fleur reared back as the plates of food appeared before them. Rosmerta grinned. "House-elves in the kitchen."

"I've never seen a house elf," Gabrielle murmured.

The two sisters dug into their meals. Anything was appreciated that wasn't rock hard sea biscuits and salted meats. Gabrielle nearly groaned as the buttery crust of the date pie melted on her tongue and the duck roast fell apart under the direction of her knife and fork. Fleur ate far more primly, but she looked like she was having an orgasmic experience herself. Gabrielle's nose wrinkled. She had had sex, and here her older sister was, still a virgin.

It was terribly odd to think about. Better not think of it at all.

Someone cleared their throat. Gabrielle looked down the bar at the two dwarves that sat by side. The one closest to her had his hood pulled over a wild mass of brown hair, crusted black in some places. He had big, calloused hands, each finger bearing an ugly silver ring.

"You're looking for Harry Wyrdfod?" he asked roughly.

Fleur frowned. "Harry Wildfyre?"

"His name's Wyrdfod for people like us, innit it?" the dwarf asked. "What a couple of nice girls doing, looking for a war?"

Gabrielle bared her teeth, looking up at her pale, pale face. "Do I look like a nice girl to you?" she hissed.

The dwarf looked at her and then down at the sword of pure silver at her side.

"No. I suppose not. Alpha," the dwarf said mockingly.

Gabrielle stiffened. "What's it to you?"

"We're going to her. I go by the name of Grom. My brotherhood and I have no need for the boy-king and his kinslaying mother. We do not follow Ironborn either. We follow the Wyrdfod. Would you ride with us to the Westeron?" Grom asked.

Gabrielle reared back. She felt out of her depth, no longer surrounded by only werewolves that respected her just for breathing. In the Republic, after Fenrir had died and before they had escaped onto the ship, there had been whispers of her being the Alpha. The Widow.

"The Order? Of the Phoenix?" Fleur asked quietly. "Kinslaying?"

Grom snorted, derisive and dismissive. "You know nothing of this Empire. You come here, speaking of a man that you should not know the name of. You come here, speaking of this man as if his very name was not dangerous. You are children."

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not a child," she barked. "I have been married and widowed already."

"By your own hand," Grom said with a shrug. "The Order of the Phoenix is the rebel group, led by the Wyrdfod. It is said that the mother of the Boy-King will murder how kin to secure her son on the throne. Now, that is all. The walls have ears and they're always listening," Grom said. He glanced over his shoulder at his companion and the man shifted, holding his war hammer in his lap.

"My friend is in Westeron. I must go to her," Fleur said uncertainly.

Grom's face wrinkled unpleasantly as he downed the rest of whatever foul-smelling liquid had been in his tin cup. "Will you come? To get to Afallon is very dangerous. We must travel across Essetir, cut through the Forbidden Forest, dangerously close to Hogsmeade and Hogwarts Castle. We leave in the morn."

And Gabrielle's eyes narrowed. She didn't trust Grom, and his brotherhood, but she knew that she had to fight to stay alive, she could. And it would be more prudent for Fleur and her to travel in a group to avoid bandits and rapers and murderers. So, Gabrielle glanced at Fleur and then back at Grom, her lips curled into something like a smile, but not quite.

"We like danger."

 **ON**

Hermione wasn't sure how this was her life.

Once more, she was sitting with Andromeda, enjoying her tea. But, now, she was in Westeron, on the side of the Order—the Resistance—with two leaders of the Resistance sitting on either side of her. Ron was lounging on the wide sofa, his long sprawling legs stretched out across, feet brushing against Andromeda's velvet skirts. Ginny sat straight, her tea and biscuits sitting in front of her, untouched. Hermione took another long sip of her tea.

"He still isn't back. The lioness is getting restless," Hermione noticed quietly.

Andromeda hummed, raising an eyebrow. "Hedwig, you mean," Andromeda said. She drained her teacup and then set it down. She waved her long pale wand, and the teapot floated, topping off all of their tea. "Are you afraid that he won't return?"

"Does he really need to?" Hermione asked stiffly.

Ginny looked at her sharply.

"What are you talking about, Hermione? Of course, he needs to come back," Ron said firmly. He glanced at the window and then looked back at Hermione. "All of these people out there...all the people that are still coming here. They're here for him. They'll only follow him."

"Only because they don't know it's okay not to have a King."

They all froze, looking at one another.

"I would hesitate in voicing these opinions," Ginny warned.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I'm on the King's Council," Ginny retorted. "I'm obligated to tell him anything that may be treasonous."

"I'm not his subject," Hermione snapped.

"You live on his money," Ginny hissed. Hermione reared back, surprised. "You've no idea what Harry has sacrificed for this empire, for our people. You were the Usurper's wife. You're lucky you're here to begin with. If it were my decision, you wouldn't be here. Who knows what you could be hiding?"

Hermione's mouth clicked shut, offended.

"Ginny, relax. She was as much of a prisoner as anyone—" Ron warned.

"Quite right," Andromeda said. Her words silenced Ron and any more of Ginny's protest. All three young people looked to the Lady Warden. She looked faintly amused by them. "I understand your hesitance, Lady Granger. You have only suffered great cruelty at the hands of the monarchy. You have been beaten, tormented, humiliated, and abused."

Hermione refused to be ashamed.

"Yes."

"So has he," Andromeda returned. Her smile widened when Hermione reared back. "Do you know how he got my brother's perpetual loyalty?"

Hermione swallowed. "No. I thought you said he loved him."

Ginny and Ron lurched on either side of her. She could feel them exchanging glances behind her head, but she only had eyes for Andromeda.

"He traded his virginity. He whored himself out for this kingdom. For his rightful crown. He allowed my brother—his enemy, at the time—intimacy. An intimate part of himself. He bared his soul. I think the empire would do well with a king like that," Andromeda said and there was respect in her voice that Hermione had rarely heard from the woman.

Hermione mulled over the words and she glanced at the Weasley siblings. They looked uncomfortable. Ginny looked over at Andromeda, hesitating.

"You know he doesn't like that word. 'Whore'," Ginny said. She said it like it was a vile curse.

Andromeda sniffed. "Well, he isn't here right now, is he?"

"I think tea should be over now," Ginny said quite rudely. Hermione glanced at Andromeda, but Andromeda still looked quite amused. Ginny stood up stiffly and walked out without another word.

"Is she always like that?" Hermione asked once Ginny left.

"She's...she's complicated," Ron said, searching for a word. It didn't sound like the half of it, in Hermione's opinion.

"With good reason to be," Andromeda admitted. "Her emotions are so raw. If it weren't so painful, I would call them 'delicious' even. She feels strongly."

Hermione wondered about that, but there was a strain on Ron's face that made her think not to ask. Not until she was alone with Andromeda, and she wasn't sure if Andromeda would even know the answer. Andromeda pretended to know everything, but Hermione didn't think she did. Not even by half. She just thought that all Slytherins thought they knew everything. Even Salazar Slytherin thought he knew everything.

"Thank you for having us for tea," Hermione said calmly.

Andromeda nodded once. "You are quite welcome. I enjoy having our tea. Now, hurry along. I must go entertain Rowena and Salazar before they begin snooping some more. I imagine they've already caught glimpses of the number of Death Eaters in Afallon. They are old, suspicious people."

"With good reason to be," Hermione debated. "Your brother _did_ murder their comrades."

"I never said they didn't have a reason," Andromeda retorted and for some reason, it made Hermione's cheeks hot.

Hermione rose and immediately went to curtsey. She stopped herself. Andromeda looked at her in delighted surprised and nodded. Ron stood immediately, nearly tripping over his long legs as they walked out of Andromeda's rooms.

"Where we have off to now?" Ron asked.

"We?" Hermione asked patiently.

Ron shrugged. "I've nothing to do. Percy and the twins are going to the village today to see if the harvest is going smoothly. We're preparing for a war, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are," Hermione sighed.

"Well, I've nothing to do until Harry is back. So, where are we off to?" he asked.

"The library," Hermione decided, turning a sharp left. It was probably by choice that Andromeda's rooms were positioned far from the library.

Ron groaned. "The library? Again?"

"I didn't ask you to come," Hermione retorted.

Ron nodded, conceding her point. "Why not go out and spar?" he asked.

"I'm not a soldier," Hermione said as she pushed open the doors to the library.

She'd been in the library so many times since she had arrived at Westeron, but it took her breath away each time, just as the library had at Hogwarts. This library was certainly not as big, but it was always grand to see more than a few books. Hermione had been limited to the three books that her stepmother had allowed her when she was still nothing but a servant.

From servant to Lady to a maybe-Queen to a free person. What a remarkable tale her history made. She smiled softly.

"You could be," Ron said. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

"You think so?" she asked.

Ron nodded. "Oh, yeah. Bloody hell, you're quite good, you know? The way you dueled with Zabini? It was...it was really good. Who taught you?"

"Books, I suppose. I learned everything I know from books. My father was a Muggle. So was my mother. When we found out I was magical, I got a wand and they brought me so many books," Hermione said softly. "I suppose they all belong to Lady Zabini."

"Imagine being smart enough to learn all that from books," Ron said and he sounded awed by her. Hermione's lips twitched. No one had ever been in awe of her.

It was flattering.

"Books and cleverness aren't a real replacement for talent and bravery. I'm...I'm a survivor. Not a warrior. It's different," Hermione said.

Ron frowned, letting that settle in the silence between them as they walked through the library. He rocked back and forth on his heels as they came to a stop by a bookcase and Hermione peered at the spines, searching for something to catch her interest. Nothing did, so they continued their walking.

"Fancy a game?" Ron asked curiously.

Hermione crossed her arms as they walked side by side through the library. She wanted to peel away, to rifle through all of the beautiful tomes. Hermione resisted. It would be rude, especially when Ron was one of her only friends. Luna was still gone, and Barty...well, she wasn't quite ready to see Barty just yet.

"What kind of game?" she asked.

"Wizarding chess. I found a set here, but no one will play with me anymore," Ron said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Ron grinned. "I _always_ win."

Hermione stopped at the challenge, and she turned towards him fully. She looked him up and down, curious.

"Where's the board?"

 **THE WALL**

Neville peered down at his sister's miserable face, unable to help his grimace. He'd been grimacing for what felt like forever. Ever since she had baptized him in the ocean, he had only felt grim and tired. He hated being King, and couldn't imagine fighting what could be a years-long war for something he didn't even want. But, what he wanted didn't matter at the moment. Instead, he looked over at his grandmother.

"Let's finish this meeting, yes?" Daphne said firmly, looking at Neville and Augusta. She paused to cough, wrapping her blankets around her shoulders tighter and taking a sip of the lukewarm tea. "My sister says that they are returning, but ships do not follow. She isn't sure what that means just yet."

"Do you think the Fairest means to claim the East first?" Neville wondered aloud.

Augusta sneered. "The Gryffindor will see Narcissa as the bigger target. While they go at one another's throats, we will build our strength," she decided.

Daphne nodded agreement. She absently mopped at her sticky forehead with the edge of her quilt and sighed, brushing back her hair.

"It feels warm in her. And dry. Too dry," she rasped even as she downed the rest of her tea.

Augusta frowned, worried, but didn't say anything. Neville huffed, shaking his head. He was at the end of his rope. Daphne had been like this for weeks, and he was finished with pretending that there wasn't a problem.

"What can we do for her?" Neville demanded. "She's ill. She's never been ill before."

"I know," Augusta snapped. Neville knew that she was nervous and worried. He could see it in her face. She looked so much older with her right-hand bedridden.

"I'm...I'm still alive. Don't speak of me like…" Daphne began and was interrupted by a terrible cough. She trembled, her arms wrapped around him as she gagged. She turned to the bucket next to her and vomited out fresh water and what looked like raw fish mixed with bile.

Augusta's upper lip curled. "You haven't been cooking your fish?"

"No," Daphne snapped. "It's disgusting."

"You never minded before. You haven't minded since you were given your legs," Augusta retorted.

Daphne paused as if she hadn't realized that. She frowned, looking down at the exposed skin.

"I don't...I haven't any scales," she whispered. "I'm not reverting back."

"No. But...are you sure that that... _Warlock_ didn't make any stipulations?" Neville whispered, eyes darting around the room, worriedly. Daphne raised an eyebrow, an unimpressed look on her face.

"Neville, I was a child. A child that got lucky because my father protected me. I've no idea what other stipulations that Warlock might've put in," Daphne retorted.

Augusta shook her head. "A child, perhaps, but never a stupid one. Raw fish and bile. What have you been up to, girl? Will you ask your sister?"

Daphne shook her head. "I've already been calling upon her too often. My father is dying, you know. Soon...soon she will be Queen. And she is worried. Marzenna is...Marzenna…" and then Daphne screamed, staring past Augusta.

Augusta and Neville spun to stare at whatever it was. But, the space by the window was empty. The only change was that the window was now open. Neville looked back to his sister. Foam bubble from her cracked lips. Her screaming had stopped and she was muttering in that gurgling Mermish language that he had never master. She was rocking back and forth like she was speaking to someone that wasn't there.

"Has she gone mad?" Augusta whispered. Neville looked to his grandmother and he glanced back at the pool she had in the center of her room. The pool of saltwater.

"She's dry," Neville realized softly.

Augusta's eyes widened. Neville didn't wait for her command. He stood up, tearing the quilts from Daphne's shoulders and scooped her up. She was tall, but always so thin and her bones were still thin like a fish. He walked quickly towards the pool and dropped her in, not even bothering to carefully settle her. Augusta made a sound of protest, but Neville ignored her. The water splashed along his trousers, but Neville only watched Daphne sink.

Daphne's closed eyes opened and there were no longer sea-glass. Neville's mouth dropped open as he stared into the yellow, _yellow_ eyes that he remembered from childhood. She slowly opened her mouth and gulped the water down, her back arching. Her hand shot up, crashing through the water and she sat up in the water, rocking back and forth.

"What the fuck just happened?" Neville demanded.

Daphne looked healthier than she had in months. She slowly turned to look at her brother.

"Marzenna called me Ainu," she said softly. She looked troubled.

"Who is this 'Marzenna'?" Augusta barked.

Daphne looked dismayed. "I tried to tell you. You wouldn't listen," she whispered.

"I am listening now," Augusta snapped.

Daphne swallowed. "What do you know...of the one called 'Pandora'?"

"Nothing. Who is she?" Augusta asked.

"There are three Dtrwies and Death is like air. Pandora...starts wars and ends them. Pandora is _coming_. Because this war...this war is ordained," Daphne whispered, sounding terrified. "There is a reason that this Harry Wildfyre is so important. He was born to be special. He is special like _her_."

 **WHO**

Tonks leaned back, searching Harry's face for something that she surely wouldn't find. He was fine with pretending that he didn't see the look of apprehension on her face.

"I'm sorry if that makes things any better," Tonks finally said. Harry hummed as if he hadn't heard her. "I shouldn't have...encouraged the fire and blood conquest. It was a bit much. Even for me."

"I should've been more humble. We live through our humiliations. We learn from them too," Harry said grudgingly, and Tonks took it for an acceptance of her apology. She beamed at him, sidling up to his side as she neatly looked away from his rumpled sheets and sat down on the one other chair in the room.

"What are you working on?" Tonks asked.

"I don't know," Harry muttered, staring at the blank page. "I just...feel restless on this fucking ship. I have nothing to do."

"You've been _doing_...a lot," Tonks said, lewdly. "It smells like a brothel."

Harry snorted, his cheeks slightly pink. "You know, the brothel you grew up in smelled quite nice," Harry teased.

"Rita's all about the atmosphere," Tonks said with a smirk. She leaned back in her chair and frowned. "I...I never thought I'd go back there."

"You didn't have to work," Harry repeated.

Tonks sighed. "I did. And it was fine. I...Remus knows what I do. I was doing it for a long time, Harry. I did it even when I was with the Order if there was a need for it. I'm not ashamed. There's no reason to be ashamed."

Harry hesitated for a long time as he processed that. Shame. What an utterly strange word. What a word that he hated. His humiliation had transformed into shame as they crossed back to Albion. The shame of being treated like a nobody, of bringing himself to his knees. The shame of having no one defend his honor. The shame of them seeing him like that. The shame of allowing Tom to treat him like...to treat him like…

"No, there is no shame in what you did," Harry said. It wasn't a lie. Tonks had no reason to be ashamed.

"The ambassadors wonder after you. They gossip. The blonde girl, Queenie, is getting along _spectacularly_ with Luna. They whisper to one another, I don't know what about. Porpentina, Tina, she likes to be called, is serious but—" Tonks said and then she cut herself off after Harry gave her a look. Her lips twitched. "What?"

"They're a necessary evil. I don't intend to make friends with them, I think. Except for the zoologist. He appreciates me lovely Freia," Harry said with a little smile. Newt was a sweet man.

"I was just _getting_ to him," Tonks huffed playfully. "Tina's a bit jealous of you. Apparently, Mr. Scamander speaks quite a lot about you. Theseus and she think he's a bit sweet on you."

Harry threw his head back and laughed. "He fancies my _dragon_. That man is in love with Porpentina and you know it," he said. His eyes grew brighter and he leaned forward. "Shall I go up there and flirt with him? Make him flustered?"

"Harry, don't start any trouble where there need be none," Tonks warned, but she was grinning.

"What? Mischief is in my blood, isn't it? That's what Remus and Sirius say. They were always pulling pranks!" Harry began, grinning as he turned fully away from his desk for the first time. Tonks laughed, shaking her head. "No. Come on. Show me how to flirt. Must I flutter my lashes?"

He did just that.

"Harry!"

"Oh, shall I lean in close and whisper into his ear? Oh, but that would make _Tom_ quite angry, wouldn't it? Oh, I _must_ do it now," Harry said, a bit of bite in his voice. He grinned, licking his lips lasciviously and Tonks burst into a fresh round of laughter that howled throughout the room.

" _Tom_ should come in here and smack the nonsense out of you," Tonks said, her lips quirking into a little grin. "He's the only one that has the patience for you when you get like this."

Harry's lips curled, a quick retort on the end of his tongue before he hesitated. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and he felt almost dizzy with the thought.

"Maybe he should," Harry whispered like a terrible secret.

Tonks' eyes widened and she snorted. "Really, Harry?"

Harry stared at her with narrowed eyes. She didn't know what was going on in his head. Tonks liked to think that she always knew, but she didn't. Not really.

"Really. Maybe I'd like it," Harry hissed, his eyes bright with anger. "Maybe I want him to treat me like a—"

Tonks faltered. "Harry," she began. "Rough sex doesn't make you a whore."

Harry ignored her.

"What did I do in life to be given you?" he asked suddenly. Tonks looked surprised by his sudden words of affection. Harry's lips curled into a smile. "You were kind to me from the very beginning. You have always been on my side. You've never lied to me."

Tonks winced, her lips curling into a smile.

"I am your sword," she said gently. "I am always loyal to you. The Wyrdfod. The Deliverer. The Master."

"I am no Master," Harry said immediately. He shuddered. "I know what it is to be a slave. I would never be anyone's slave. You understand that, right?"

Tonks' gaze never wavered. "I am your Sword."

"Okay…" Harry said quietly. "You are my sword."

Tonks stood from her perch on the edge of the chair and moved towards Harry's desk. She sat on the edge of it and looked down at the blank piece of parchment. She nodded and crossed her arms.

"There's work to be done. Let's draft meeting agendas for when we return. I suspect a war council meeting is in order. At least, enough of one to apprise them of the current situation," Tonks said and Harry nodded in agreement.

"Yes. We'll need to establish who will be my Admiral, don't we? And I suppose, there's a conversation I must have. I've been avoiding it," Harry admitted.

Tonks looked down at him in surprise.

"A conversation? With whom?" she asked.

Harry sighed. "With the Lady Granger, of course."

 **IS**

Sirius had learned how to be remarkably quiet during his time in Azkaban. Dementors were drawn to sound and emotion, and so, Sirius had learned how to make himself quite small. In both the emotional, mental, and physical sense. Now, he trotted down the halls, disguised as a great, shaggy dog. Sirius' tongue lolled out of his head as he went around the corner, barking happily as he ran past two servant girls.

They both shrieked, terribly surprised by his sudden appearance, and Sirius' barking laugh was the answer as he darted away.

"That mangy mutt!" one called, roughly pulling out her wand and sending a Stinging Hex. Sirius dodged it, laughing.

"He's only a dog," the other pleaded.

"No, it's not. It's Sirius Black!"

Sirius strained his neck as he turned down a corridor that he rarely found himself in. Sirius slept in Regulus' rooms, near the Lady Warden. Regulus was quick to put some of his many responsibilities on Sirius. Sirius was both happy and annoyed with his sudden role. Harry hadn't given him _anything_ important to do, so Sirius was happy to be involved, but it was all about being the steward of a castle. Sirius had a war to fight in.

He had found some sense of interest in the twins. Fred and George provided a great distraction. They were talented pranksters and inventors, and Remus and the twins had shown them some of the inventions that Fred and George were working on at the behest of Harry. He liked to watch their weapons explode—things they called _bombs_ or _fireworks_ , but it sometimes put Sirius in a mood. Even the pranksters were given something to do.

"—must decide for the good of the empire—"

"He's blinded by his—"

"He's blinded by _cock_. Whoring himself out—"

"—the walls have ears—"

"Constant vigilance, McKinnon!" Alastor Moody shouted and Sirius nearly whined when he heard a bang. Slowly, he padded forward, keeping his head hanging low to the ground as he pressed himself against the door.

"Yes, yes, Moody," Marlene McKinnon drawled. Sirius had just met her when he had first been brought back from Azkaban. She was a wane, serious looking woman with a bad attitude, but she seemed quite capable on the battlefield. "But, he is not here. Of course, he is not here."

"He will return," Fendwick said in his gruff voice. "Hopefully, with ships."

"And if not?" McKinnon asked.

Moody let out a low grumble. "If he is not given ships, that means he has failed. And failure may turn this in our favor. He will look away from the Dark Lord and the Slytherin whore as his advisors. He will seek counsel elsewhere."

There was the sound of someone shifting. Sirius strained forward, even more, to hear their voices as they lowered to whispers.

"By 'elsewhere'...do you mean us?" McKinnon whispered.

"Two mistakes he'll have made by listening to Slytherins. Each greater than the last. McGonagall is dead because of Slytherins. If he is denied the ships, it will be due to the Slytherin monster that he keeps in his bed," Fendwick spat and then he calmed, letting out a noisy breath. Sirius' heart had stopped in his chest.

Sirius closed his wide grey eyes and couldn't help his whimper. He remembered Harry's sweet smile, always directed at the cold, impenetrable Dark Lord. The way moved around one another as if they couldn't ever bear to be torn apart. The way they locked themselves away for hours on end, and everyone looked the other way.

"He will stray from him and come to—"

Sirius trotted away, running as fast as he could. Mid-run, he Transfigured back, shifting into his robes. He panted just as madly as he had as a dog, panic and fury swelling within him as he ran up the winding stairs to Regulus' rooms. He threw the doors open with a bang and Remus and Regulus looked up from their conversation. They had been smiling.

"Teddy is down for his nap now, but I should get him up soon," Remus was saying, and Regulus was nodding, his eyes soft as they were whenever _anyone_ mentioned Remus and Tonks' adopted child.

Regulus was sipping his tea and Sirius threw the door shut behind him. Both men looked up, wide-eyed.

"Sirius, where have you been?" Regulus asked. "There's work I need you to look—"

"D-Did y-you know?" Sirius snarled. He hated how when he got angry, his stutter returned full force. Both men looked at him, confused for a long time. Sirius grimaced. "I-I heard M-Moody and his lackeys t-talking."

"They're having secret meetings? Who else was there? Fendwick?" Remus asked, more alert and serious. He looked so much older than he had nearly twenty years ago. He had once been Sirius' best friend.

Sirius' best friend wouldn't hide something like _this_ from him.

"D-did you know? A-a-about H-Harry a-and _V-Voldemort_. T-they're fucking!" Sirius roared. Regulus looked away and Sirius slammed his hand against the hard wooden door. He heard something crack, and, in both rage and pain, he shouted, "Fuck!"

"Sirius…" Remus began, uncertain where he would go with his explanation.

Sirius whipped around to sneer at his closest living friend.

"What?" he spat.

"He didn't want you to know. He asked me not to tell you. I wanted to," Regulus said and his gaze softened as he looked up at his older brother. "He loves him."

Regulus watched how Sirius turned so pale that he was the color of bone. Sirius shook his head in disbelief, his lips parted and he sucked in a deep breath of air through his teeth. And then he deflated, wrapping his arms around himself.

"He can't," Sirius whispered. "He killed James and Lily. Harry's _parents._ "

"Harry knows that better than anyone," Remus said grimly. "And he loves him anyway."

 **FAIREST**

They heard Freia first.

The great screech echoed across Westeron and the city surrounding it. Freia circled Westeron, a blaze of white fire escaping her mouth to announce their homecoming. Even on Freia's back, he could hear the cheers. Harry could imagine their cries as they caught sight of their Wyrdfod for the first time in weeks. Freia circled again, flying over the main road of the city, just behind the walking procession. Freia dipped low, flying towards the entrance of Westeron, on the strip of land between the castle entrance and the entrance.

She landed with a thud.

Harry stared at the party that waited for him. Andromeda stood at the forefront, his war council surrounding them. Cedric, Cho, and two of his Adored Ones were also there, draped in their finest. He spotted Lady Granger towards the back of the welcoming party, her gaze trained on a pair of old people standing just behind Andromeda. Harry slipped down from Freia's back just as Tom and Tonks joined him along with Luna, the Lestrange brothers, and the City-State ambassadors.

Harry straightened his blood battle robes, his sword bouncing against his side. He threw back his shoulders as he looked at Andromeda.

"Welcome home, your Grace," she greeted.

"It's good to be home, Lady Warden," he said with a small smile.

"Was you trip met with much success?" Moody growled, sounding impatient.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, his smile grew into a grin. "Ah, yes. We have secured a third of the City-State's fleet. More than enough for our needs. I think this conversation would be more prudent in council, don't you—"

"Andromeda. What have you _done_?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Tom's nostrils were flared and he was staring at the two older people on either side of Andromeda. Tom's wand was out, pointed at them, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

"Tom, what is it?" Harry whispered.

Andromeda swallowed. "Your Grace, we have welcomed two...unexpected guests. You will know them as my father, Salazar Slytherin, and...Rowena Ravenclaw."

 _Helena's mother._

 _The first one's mother._

 _The first heart._

Harry's smile melted away.

Harry stared silently at the two elders that stood before him. The man must have been handsome in his youth, like Tom, with silvery eyes. Harry wondered if Tom's eyes had ever been that color, once upon a time. Rowena was still a handsome woman, though with more silver in her hair than black. She had aged very well, according to the portraits in Harry's books. Unconsciously, he reached out, grabbing Tom's wrist and positioning himself in front of the man. It didn't matter that Tom towered over him; Harry's intent was clear. Harry didn't miss how Rowena's dark eyes flashed at the movement.

"Hello, King Wildfyre."

Harry nodded. He would not bow to them. He would not bow to anyone anymore.

"Lady Ravenclaw. Lord Slytherin," Harry greeted, his voice soft. He pretended not to notice the way the witnesses hissed and whispered at the titles he had granted them with. "I had been led to believe that you were deep in hiding."

"We have been. Hiding from the man that stands by your side," Rowena spat. She waited for Harry's shame.

She would not have it.

"The man by my side has been there from the very start of this war," Harry bit out.

"The man by your side started the war!" Rowena roared, her voice echoing through the Entrance Hall. Harry didn't flinch, his green eyes hardening.

Salazar looked from Harry to his son, his colorless eyes revealing no emotion. Harry studied him. He could see some of the resemblance between the once King and his firstborn. Their strong jaw was one and the same, but their eyes were different. Of course, they were. Salazar's eyes were neither silver nor blue. Tom's eyes were the color of war.

"The man by my side," Harry whispered, "Has kept me safe."

"I'm not sure if I believe that," Salazar finally said. Harry looked up at Tom, as his father finally spoke.

Tom's lips were curled into a terrible smile. "Of course you don't, _Father_. Always believe the worst of me, won't you?"

Salazar's eyes grew cold. "You've always shown the worst of you."

"Father. Brother. Do try not to air the family's dirty laundry out in front of polite company," Andromeda said, coolly. She bypassed the quiet showdown, marching up to Tonks. Tonks allowed her mother to press kisses to each cheek. "How are you, my dear?"

"I'm fine. Just fine," Tonks murmured.

Salazar turned sharply, looking at his daughter. "Your daughter?" Salazar asked, his voice quiet, looking at her and he winced when the pink melted from the girl's hair, and her hair grew to her shoulders, a mess of wild curls.

She looked like Andromeda and Bellatrix when young. Her eyes were sharp like Narcissa's. His blood ran strong.

"It doesn't matter," Rowena barked. She still hadn't looked away from Tom. Harry swallowed hard, his fingers clenching, white fire already gathering in his palms. "I promised you a death, _boy._ "

"Try it," Tom barked. "I dare you."

"No. No one's fighting," Harry snarled. He took a step forward, staring at the two of them and he let out a deep breath. "You are both here. And you will remain as my guests. But, if you _dare_ touch him...if you even think...I will burn the _hearts_ of you."

 **OF**

"Why are we in the dungeons? Doesn't this seem excessive, Mother?"

"Hush, Draco. The Lady Chancellor was a sense of privacy. This is the closest we get in a court full of spies and liars."

Narcissa resisted the urge to rub her temples. She felt an aching building in her forehead and at the base of her skull. Draco had moved past his sorrowful weeping and grief and had gone back to whining as if he were a toddler. In some ways, it reminded Narcissa of the boy he had been when Bellatrix had still been alive. It nearly made her smile. But, then, she remembered that when Bellatrix had been alive, her son would've never been given what he was owed.

 _She_ would've never been given what was owed.

At least, the Lady Pansy Parkinson kept him check, through her own annoying sort of whining. If Narcissa knew that elevating the Parkinson girl's status would mean a constant state of ass-kissing, she wouldn't have done so. But, it was too late, and the girl was proving rather useful. She could keep her life.

For now.

"We are meeting here," Narcissa finally said as she led them into the room she had carved out in the dungeons. It was a simple room, repurposed from a cell. A big stone table sat in the middle of it and already, two of the seats were filled.

As Narcissa, Draco, and Pansy entered, Crouch and Dolohov stood, immediately, bowing.

"Lady Chancellor," they said, stumbling over themselves. "Your Majesty."

"Sit down," Draco said, rolling his eyes as he walked forward. As Narcissa looked at him again in proper torchlight, her smooth expression crumpled into a slight frown.

His eyes were bloodshot and the circles under her eyes were so dark they looked like bruises. No, he still was not well. He was haunted in his dreams. Narcissa looked at Pansy. Underneath the heavy cosmetics, Pansy couldn't hide the black bruise around her neck. So, Draco had tried to strangle her once more. Pansy caught her looking and lifted her chin, a stern set to her mouth. Narcissa nodded in appreciation.

The girl continued to serve even at her near-death, every night.

Only something foolish called _love_ could inspire such loyalty.

"Mother, it's past the time of retirement. What could be so important?" Draco demanded.

"A war, boy," Narcissa snarled.

Draco looked away, two pink circles blossoming in his cheeks. Narcissa sat down next to Dolohov, and Draco sat between her and Pansy. Crouch was sifting through his notes, muttering to himself before he looked up.

"Shall I begin?" Crouch asked.

Draco sighed, waving his hand. "Very well. What is this about?"

"Well...it's about Wildfyre," Crouch began. "It is time to acknowledge that we are at a severe disadvantage. He has the numbers, he has the Dark Lord, and he has a dragon."

"The numbers...we can match that with skill. They lost just as many as we did," Dolohov retorted for the fifteenth time. Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose. She would've killed him by now if it weren't for how he dogged her footsteps, forever loyal to his new mistress, and his sizeable cock.

"The Dark Lord has no equal though," Pansy said timidly. She sounded nearly afraid.

Narcissa's eyes flashed open and she looked at Pansy, a cool smile spreading across her face.

"Oh, dear girl...my brother didn't kill the Founders alone," Narcissa hissed nastily. "I wear a warrior's braids. As long as I meet him, and I alone, you shall not fear."

"And your sister, Andromeda?" Pansy whispered.

Narcissa smirked. "She is no match either," Narcissa said. Truly, she wanted to hiss her horrible deeds— _I have gone farther with black magic than anyone. I have slain the great Bellatrix. I have bathed myself blood and torn apart my body. I have cleaved darkness to my soul._

She did not say anything of these things.

"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean we don't have something to fear: Wildfyre and his dragon," Crouch reminded them, rubbing at his thin mustache. He looked rather excited, and Narcissa leaned forward, intrigued.

"You have an idea. An idea for a weapon?" Narcissa asked.

Crouch paused. "Not a weapon, exactly. Something to assist us...of sorts. Something to put us on equal grounds with a dragon," Crouch said, his eyes glowing black.

Draco was suspiciously silent before he leaned forward, his silver gaze like molten iron.

"I know," Draco whispered. "I understand."

"Do you?" Dolohov asked, confused.

Draco's lips curled into a grin—that terrible, incorrigible grin that Narcissa had missed.

"He's going to make us _fly._ "

 **THEM**

They were putting on a show.

Slowly, they circled one another. Harry smirked, his eyes never leaving the man. He drew his sword in one hand, his wand in the other. Tom mirrored him, his red eyes never leaving Harry's. Their audience waited with baited breath, wondering. Harry struck first, as he always did. He sent out a terrible Cutting Curse, and Tom batted it away with a flick of his wand. Harry roared, swinging his sword down, and Tom blocked it and parried.

"You're so predictable," Tom sneered.

Harry rolled his eyes and went to knee the man in the stomach. Tom caught it with his wrist and knocked Harry off balance. Harry stumbled back and he grit his teeth as he dodged a vicious purple curse. Knowing Tom, he'd send lethal curses Harry's way to inspire an urgency to survive. The man was a fucking prick.

"Oh, so we're getting serious, then?" Harry asked.

"We always were. You're so angry, Harry," Tom taunted.

Harry sneered. "So, are you."

And then they met again in a fury of steel and magic. Magic burbled in the air, curses catching and being blocked. Shield Charms and curses flew through the air. Harry slid through the dirt, dodging what looked like the Cruciatus Curse and came from Tom's legs. Tom spun out of the way and engaged in a battle of steel once more for close quarters. They came at each other, neither holding back in their endeavor to win their spar.

Harry's blood was pumping harder than it had in a long time. His lips curled back into a fearsome grin, full of rage and adrenaline, and Tom had that same look in his eyes. This was what it meant when one met their equal in battle. Harry fluttered his lashes as they met again, only steel blocking his sword from meeting Tom's throat.

"Gonna give me a kiss?" Harry purred.

Tom rolled his eyes and kneed Harry in the stomach. Harry stumbled back and gasped, trying to catch his breath. Tom didn't give him a chance to recover, swinging his hand and backhanding him. Harry stumbled again and he brought his hand to his lips.

"I'm fucking bleeding. If I lose my teeth again, I'm going to kill you," Harry snarled.

Tom sneered. "No one will give you that fucking courtesy in a battle between life and death."

Harry huffed and went forward again and he cursed when Tom caught him by his wrist and turned him so that his blade was against Harry's throat. Harry didn't yield, only slamming his head back into Tom's nose. He heard a satisfying crack and threw his pommel back into the man's stomach over and over again so that Tom's blade finally dropped from his throat.

"You yield?" Harry asked.

"Not even close. _Avada Kedavra_."

"ARE YOU SHITTING ME?" Harry roared, diving out of the way as it shot past him. He turned to look over his shoulder and he saw that all of their spectators had dove out of the way. "You can't do that! People are watching! You can't just shoot Unforgivable Curses at me."

"I didn't ask them to and I knew you could dodge it," Tom snarled, taking his nose and snapping it back into place. "It's how I was taught."

"By _who_?" Harry hissed.

"My father. Do we continue or do you yield?" Tom asked, not even bothering to stem the bleeding that sloshed down and covered his mouth and chin.

"No I yield," Harry snarled. He looked over his shoulder at everyone. Even Cedric looked thrown by the use of the curse. "Everyone, just...go back to training or something. Please!"

Everyone grumbled, looking over the shoulders as they did what their King commanded. Harry turned back, frowning up at Tom's ire.

"What?" Tom snapped.

Harry's gaze softened. "I'm sorry that he's here," he whispered.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tom said stiffly.

Harry sighed. "Okay," he muttered, leaning up and pressing a kiss to Tom's lips, ignoring the blood that soaked them. "Fix your nose. And don't do it yourself. You're rubbish at Healing charms."

"Who told you that lie?" Tom asked through clenched teeth.

Harry grinned. "No one. I just know you're rubbish at it," Harry murmured, pressing his forehead against the man's shoulder. "Please don't do it yourself."

"I'll have Andromeda fix it later," Tom sighed.

"Thank you, Tom. We'll train later. No more Unforgiveables," Harry said.

"I'm not a child," Tom snarled, annoyed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I _know_. Stop being an arse. I have to wash. I have tea with the Lady _Granger_ ," Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"She hates the idea of a king," Tom pointed out.

Harry hummed. "Gotta keep her close. I'll tell you about it when we go to bed tonight."

He danced away without another word, leaving Tom in the middle of his own carnage. He sighed, looking at the scorched earth, created by his own Killing Curse. Yes, if that had hit someone—or even, Harry—that would've been a problem. But, really, Tom _had_ been trained that way. So had Bellatrix, and Andromeda, and Narcissa.

"You've no idea what you're doing, boy." Tom didn't look up from the scarred earth. He didn't move at all, as cold as marble as Rowena knew his heart to be. "You're doing this wrong. You treat him as if he were a soldier," Rowena spat, her eyes unforgiving as she looked at the man who had ruined her life. She watched in satisfaction as his gloved hands clenched into tight fists.

"He's not a child," Tom snarled. "Don't let his pretty little eyes deceive you. Don't let his innocent smile turn you into a fool. He _wants_ you to think him a pretty whore. But, beauty is terror, Rowena Ravenclaw. You'd be sure to remember that."

Rowena looked stricken for a moment and Tom felt a cheap thrill rush down his spine. It was the thrill of a child besting his elder, and Tom couldn't hate Rowena more than in that moment. Here, she had come—both her and his father—to haunt him.

She blinked at him, watching Tom's eyes—always bright with cruel madness. There was an air of darkness around him, and he looked exhausted. But, there was passion there when he spoke of Harry Wildfyre. Rowena remembered a child with passion and dispassion. She remembered a child, soft with her blind little girl. That might be why it had hurt so much when she found Helena's broken body, the blind little bird dead at _his_ hands.

"Then you see that you've created a monster," Rowena hissed. "You did the same with Narcissa, and you see what that has done to the empire. You see what you're doing to him. You've ruined him. You've broken him and—"

"He was already broken what I got him. You are in no place to tell me how to do what must be done. What I have been ordained to do by the gods," Tom said, his words like acid, meant to scar. Rowena was very still. "You are no longer part of this story."

Rowena did not react. Not yet.

"No. I am not. But, I was. My story didn't end well. I want his to. It's not too late," Rowena said calmly.

Tom's eyes narrowed with malice.

"There is no such thing as a 'happily ever after'. Pity the fool who thinks there is," Tom said.

"I don't have one because your selfishness took it away," Rowena whispered, and he could hear the agony in her voice, the grief that still weighed so heavily on her shoulders. Tom sneered at her. This weak woman still clutched to the idea of her revenge. It was the reason she _breathed_.

"Life is a story, Rowena. And we were all given our parts to play. You, the grieving mother," Tom said, his voice heavy. He hesitated, her name stricken his tongue. It always hurt to say her name. "Helena, the martyr. And Tom Marvolo...Voldemort of House Slytherin...the Dark Lord, the villain. We play our roles as the gods have given them."

For so many years, Rowena had wondered. She had wondered what had made him kill her. She had wondered what had caused him to crave immortality. She had always wondered, but she had always hated him too much and cared too little for his excuses. She wondered.

"Why did you kill her? Why did it have to be my girl? Why did you take her from me?" Rowena demanded and she felt her eyes sting with her tears.

Tom faltered as he stared at her.

"I don't have to answer you," he said calmly.

"What have you to lose? Don't be...for once, Tom, don't be cruel," she said, finally breaking to pieces in front of him, and a sob ribbed its way from her lungs. Rowena suddenly looked very much like the old woman she was.

Somehow, Tom felt like he was winning and losing all at once.

"I wouldn't have done it," he said softly. "She asked…. _What is it that you need of me, Tom?_ And I told her. And I wouldn't have done it, but she said 'then it is yours'. And I don't remember every death by my hand. But, I remember hers. Every detail."

Rowena's sobs crackled. Tom watched her cry with a morbid sort of curiosity. He could turn away, but he didn't. Her sobs felt like a baptism. He closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him. When she quieted, he opened his eyes again to look at her.

"Do you regret it? Was it _worth_ it?" she spat like vitriol.

Tom tilted his head. "I am the Kingmaker. I make kings and I build empires. This empire was built on her blood. Of course, it was worth it. I am the Kingmaker. I would never regret my purpose."

 **ALL?**

"Hello, Lady Granger."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat again. She had prepared herself for this meeting. Luna had warned her it was happening as soon as they spoke. They had curled up together in Hermione's bed, whispering to each other about everything that had happened since their separation. Luna had said that after a day or so of Harry Wildfyre settling after his trip, he would ask to have tea with her. Luna had tried to prepare her.

Luna had said that he would be both regal and informal. He would seem soft, but there would be an edge to him. His beauty would draw her in and repulse her. Hermione would be soothed and terrified. Luna had called him a mess of conundrums, but Hermione hadn't understood.

She understood now.

"Please, come sit. The tea is getting cold and I'm not very good at making it. I always heat it up too much and it'll nearly evaporate," Harry Wildfyre said with a grin.

Hermione swallowed as she joined him on his wide balcony. It was a beautiful day outside. The sun seemed to beat harder with Harry back in Afallon.

"I'm...I'm good at making tea. I used to make tea. A lot. For my stepmother," Hermione said, stumbling over her words. She flushed, ducking her head down, patting her hair awkwardly. She was surely frizzing it.

Luna had taken care to dress her as if Hermione was still a one-day Queen.

"I should be good at making tea. I made it a lot for my fake aunt. But, I'm still not very good at it. She used to yell at me a lot, because of it," Harry said. He sounded far away as he said these words and then he looked at her, his lips curled into a wry smile. "It's been brought to my attention that we have a lot in common."

Hermione couldn't help her snort. She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? How so?"

"We were both servants. We were both outsiders. You were once destined for the throne as I am," Harry said. He waved his wand and the tea began to serve itself. He took a sip of it, his lips curling. "Ugh, more sugar for me."

Hermione's lips curled into a tiny sneer.

"I never wanted any throne. I wanted to be left alone," Hermione spat.

"I never wanted the throne either," Harry said immediately. He ignored the look of surprise on Hermione's face. "Greatness was demanded of me from birth, and so, I deliver. But, you...greatness was thrust upon you. How did you come to be Draco's fiance?"

Hermione shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. She frowned. She had never told the story to anyone. She looked at him, her eyes narrowed.

"The Prince...the King... _Draco_ ," Hermione corrected. "Draco was on a diplomacy tour. He'd traveled through all of Albion, and his last stop was across the ocean, in the Republic. They held a great ball for him. My stepmother, Lady Zabini, and her son were going. Everyone important was going. And the invitation had been addressed to _me._ "

"Why you?" Harry asked, politely.

"Because it was my father's estate, and yes, he was a Muggle, but that doesn't mean as much in the Republic. It shouldn't mean anything at all, but he was wealthy, too. So, I, as his Heiress, was meant to go. I was forbidden. My best friend...her name was Fleur...didn't think it fair. So, she made me a dress and gave me _her_ invitation," Hermione said, and suddenly, she was back in the Republic.

She had tried so hard not to remember the cause of her misfortune, but now, as she started to finally tell the tale, she couldn't help but remember. The silk gowns and the velvet cloaks. The gold and crystal fountains. The fairies trapped in mason jars, providing light through the entire ballroom. Candle wax dripping from the chandeliers, burning hands. They had wanted _real_ candle wax, because it seemed more luxurious than never-ending candles.

"She conjured me a masque. And Fleur gave me the most beautiful shoes. She had conjured them herself. A pair of shoes made of glass. She applied a Cushioning Charm to them, but they were to wear out at midnight, so I had to be home by then. But, he noticed me. He noticed me and he was charming. Before...before all of this, he was so very charming," Hermione said, her voice cracking.

Harry didn't look at her with pity.

"Yes. Slytherins are...quite charming," Harry whispered. "They fool you into thinking they're safe."

"Yes," Hermione blurted out. "And we spoke for hours. And we danced. I told him about my life, and he promised me...he promised me that he'd free me. And I _believed_ him. Like a _fool._ "

Harry hummed, closing his eyes as he took another sip of his very sweet tea.

"They are tricksters. They make fools of us. They make us love them until they show how terrible they are," Harry said quietly to himself. "Only fools love them more for it. Hermione, _you_ are no fool. That is the difference between us."

Hermione stared at him, unsure.

"Your Grace—"

"Just, Harry," Harry prompted. "You think me unnecessary. I could see why when your only experience with kings and queens are the Slytherins."

"I think monarchy is the death of the realm," Hermione said sharply. She winced when she realized what she had said. "Your Grace...Harry…"

"You are bold. I like that," Harry decided. "A bossy, know-it-all, maybe, but bold. And brave. You're very, very brave. And you are strong and talented and intelligent. I would ask you to be one of my advisors, as your Luna is."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise.

"Me? I...I don't support your claim to the Albion throne. I don't care about your war," Hermione blurted out. Harry looked amused. "All I want...all I want...is to go _home_."

"But, isn't this your home now?" Harry challenged.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What?"

"The people you love are here. Your friends. The person you've made your family. You said it yourself. All that is left for you in the Republic is servitude," Harry said firmly. "But, here, there is a place for you. You know the way of court. You know what Draco and his mother are like, better than anyone but for the Dark Lord and the Lady Warden. You are invaluable."

"I don't want to...I can't...I don't know," Hermione stammered.

Harry sighed, nodding. "I suppose it's a hard pill to swallow, isn't it? I'm asking you to support an institution that has caused you nothing but pain. While you think about it, I would ask you to join one of my general council meetings with all of my advisors. I think you will learn the type of leader I am."

"The type of leader you are?" Hermione asked. She hated how she was practically repeating everything like a parrot.

"Yes. I think you'll find I'm quite different from Draco or Narcissa," Harry said decisively. Then, he looked up sharply, staring at the position of the sky. He pulled his wand. " _Tempus_."

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Harry grimaced. "Freia needs to eat or she'll try to eat a person," he said. Hermione balked as he stood and walked towards the balcony and promptly began to stand on top of the railing. She let out a shout, but he barely gave her a glance. "FREIA!"

There was an answering screech, and Hermione gasped when a big head swiveled down from the roof.

"Was she...was she always up there?" Hermione choked.

"Haven't you noticed?" Harry said, grinning over his shoulder. Freia swung down to fly adjacent to the balcony and Harry crawled onto her wing. "Goodbye, Hermione Granger. I shall see you soon. And hello to you, Tonks."

Hermione shook her head, shocked, and then frowned when the last words registered. She glanced over her shoulder and jumped when she saw the older woman standing in the middle of the King's sitting room.

"S-should you be here? A-are you allowed?" Hermione stammered.

She cursed at herself. What a stupid question.

"I am allowed everywhere," Tonks said, amused. "I don't think we've formally met. Nymphadora Tonks, at your service."

"You're the Lady of Whispers," Hermione said immediately. "You...you look like Bellatrix. Why?"

"I've been told," Tonks said, sounding dour. She wiggled her nose, and her bouncing brown curls shrunk into her head into little spikes and then turned a blinding pink. "Ah, much better."

"You're a Metamorphmagus! I've read all about them!" Hermione said excitedly.

Tonks laughed and then sobered again, quite quickly. "You've so much doubt, don't you, Hermione Granger?"

"I've seen what crown can do to a person. What power does to a person. What a _throne_ can do to a person," Hermione said, and if there was one thing that she could remember most clearly of her time at Hogwarts, it was of that ghastly throne.

A mess of gold, silver, onyx, and bronze, ugly and terrible.

"The Gilded Throne. Taken from the fallen four Founders. Forged by the magic and blood of four Slytherin children and the heart of a blind girl in order to save the empire. The Dark Lord says good things come in 'threes'. I believe that it comes in fours," Hermione said, her voice cold.

Tonks watched the former princess. She was a cold woman, a broken woman that had made herself sharp as the glass that the King had forced on her feet. Tonks didn't trust her as far as she could throw her. Tonks knew that Harry intended to keep tabs on Hermione by offering her a place an advisor, but Tonks had heard about the incendiary comments made in Harry's absence, and the people in the city around Westeron _loved_ her.

She was _dangerous._

"It wasn't to save an empire," Tonks retorted.

"It's an ugly old thing. You want your King to sit upon it. All Kings are marked for evil," Hermione said as she stared down towards the fire pit.

Harry Wildfyre stood near the cliffside, his head pressed against the long neck of his Horntail. Freia looked evil, her scales black, her gaze a poisonous yellow. Harry whispered calm words to her as she fed on the copious amounts of fish and meat that they kept just for Freia. Freia screeched a terrible sound. But, Tonks knew that she was a gentle thing. Hermione did not.

"It has a certain appeal," Tonks said. She took a step towards Hermione, looking her up and down, wondering if she could murder the Lady Granger without Harry ever finding out. "You will not hurt my King because you do not believe in the crown, my Lady."

"Thwarting you is not my primary ambition. I would see King Draco dead," Hermione said.

Tonks hummed. "We call him the Usurper here."

"Aren't they all Usurpers?" Hermione challenged.

"No." Tonks took another step closer, as if daring Hermione to make a move against her. Hermione just watched. At least she was clever enough to know when she was outmatched. "You could've stopped this before it began."

"I did what I did to save my life and for the good of the realm. Without me, this would've been much worse," Hermione said. Tonks laughed. The Lady Granger was arrogant in her survival. Believed herself brave now that she had survived the Mad King. If she continued being arrogant, she wouldn't survive the war. Harry thought her brave.

Tonks knew better. Tonks knew a lot of things, and Harry liked to give second chances. That's why he needed her. She was his Sword.

"The Realm. Do you know what the Realm is, Lady Granger?" Tonks asked, her voice soft. "It's the four thrones that were forged on the heart of a blind girl that my aunt and uncle consumed. It's their triumph over the Founders of a dying era. It's a story we agree to tell each other over and over, until we forget that it's a lie."

Hermione reacted to the revelation of who Tonks was. Tonks pulled her crimson hood over her head, her eyes just as dark as her mother's. She flashed them red for her uncle and Hermione flinched. Tonks' lips pulled in a smile.

"But, when we abandon the lie, we have chaos. A gaping pit waiting to swallow us all."

Tonks laughed, long and hard.

"Chaos isn't a pit. Chaos is a _ladder_ ," Tonks began her education of the Lady Granger, just as she had educated Harry what felt like years ago. "Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some, are given a chance to climb. They refuse. They cling to the _realm_. Or the gods. Or _love_. Illusions."

Hermione flinched at the barbs directed at her and suddenly, her icy veneer cracked. Tonks watched as the mask that she had learned from Narcissa fell away, leaving only a sharp vulnerability. There she was.

"Only the ladder is real," Tonks hissed, looking over to King Harry. "The _climb_ is all there is. But...what does one need of a ladder when one can _fly_?"

:::

 **A/N:** Okay. Another chapter done. Cool. There's still so much story left to tell, my goodness. Trying wrap up these loose plot strings as we go along so it won't be quite as difficult at the end. Anyway, I couldn't help the 'Chaos is a ladder' speech delivered by Tonks. I love that speech. So much. And it had to go in somewhere. I've had that last scene-the meeting between Hermione and Harry and then the speech-written for literal MONTHS. I've been so excited. The only other thing that I have written past this, along with the outline is the BIG CLIMAX, which I can tell you literally nothing about, and the meeting between Neville and Harry, which I'm equally excited for.

Anyway, I think I'm gonna write one more chapter for this, and then take another break to focus on Diagnosis, which I love like my own child. I love this fic too. It's also my child, but it's a really dark, angsty child, isn't it? Until next time!


	37. Chapter Thirty-One

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Thirty-One

"We must move. Soon," Bill said, his voice cutting through the cacophony of voices in the overfull council room. All of Harry's Council sat in the proper seats, but Harry had assembled a rather large amount of advisors on the side.

Andromeda, Luna, and Remus had dragged in an assortment of chairs. The City-Staters stood and sat clumped together at one of the room. Cedric, Cho, and Susan Bones were in another corner. Andromeda and her cohort—the Black brothers—had their own little faction of sorts, and Luna was surrounded by the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, the only one seated.

"Lord Prewett is right," Cedric added. "We lie in wait while Narcissa plots. Our resources are dwindling."

"Afallon is self-sufficient. It is better to close ranks," Regulus retorted, shaking his head. He turned towards Harry, his sharp grey eyes widening into something softer and beseeching. "Your Grace, I urge you. We do not have the forces to strike just yet. We are waiting for the last of the Western Lords to come. They are accompanied by the Lady Warden's closet warriors. They will come."

"I've no doubt of that," Harry said. Andromeda had reassured him of Regulus' words, and he trusted Andromeda in that. "But, Bill's words still stand. We have been sitting idle. We are surrounded on both sides. By Narcissa, and unknown forces to the East."

Tom leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of Harry's ear. "We need another loan or we will need to collect a tax."

Harry frowned, looking over at him. Softly, he whispered, "What do you mean?"

"Ask the Weasley boy," Tom returned.

Harry turned back to Bill, eyes narrowed.

"Why do you think we must move soon, Bill?" Harry asked.

Bill sighed. "We've used three-quarters of our loan."

The entirety of the room startled. Rowena and Salazar exchanged glances from where they watched, sitting by the windows, nearly tucked behind Cedric's party.

"What do you mean? How will we sustain ourselves?" Cho demanded.

"We need another loan or we will need to collect a tax," Harry said, repeating Tom's words.

Another fresh wave of debate erupted through the room.

"You cannot ask that of the creatures," Luna said, immediately. "After what they have given, you cannot."

"I _know_ ," Harry said, sighing. His head was hurting behind his eyes.

Tom leaned in again. "Ask Andromeda about what's in her coffers."

"Andromeda, do you have anything?" Harry sighed. Andromeda opened her mouth to speak, but Harry raised a hand, gesturing towards Bill. "Bill knows the numbers far better than I do. We could propose a tax over the wealthier Western families, and the Southern families once we establish a presence there, but for now—"

Harry allowed Bill and Andromeda to present numbers to the council at large while Harry turned back to look at Tom, their heads bent together.

"We must consider what the East plans and how that may affect Narcissa's plans for us. Augusta is not someone to be trifled with," Tom was whispering into his ear. Tonks was still as she listened in on the words that her uncle whispered. Tom peered past Harry and nodded at his niece. "Nymphadora knows this as well as I. The East has attempted to annex themselves. They will go the same as the City-States. Perhaps you let them get away with becoming an independent people, but _not_ Essetir. Essetir is too important, culturally and economically. You _cannot_ let them announce independence—"

"Is what we're speaking on irrelevant to you, your Grace?"

Harry's words tapered out, and the entire room went silent. Slowly, Harry turned to look at Sirius. Sirius looked just as surprised by his own words as Harry was. And then, he gathered his resolve and glared at Tom, fiercely.

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked softly.

"It just seems that this conversation about the resources remaining in Afallon is relevant to you, and you are being... _distracted_ by the Dark Lord," Sirius spat. He took a step forward. "You are _perpetually_ distracted by him, I would say."

"Sirius—" Remus began.

"You're quite brave, aren't you, Black?" Tom hissed, malevolently. Everyone flinched. It wasn't often that Tom spoke out loud to anyone during council meetings, preferring to hiss into Harry's ear to prove that he always had it.

"I say this out of concern for his Grace," Sirius snapped. "After all, some conversation should be kept to private rooms, yes? I'm sure others would agree with me. I'm sure others _do_. Perhaps Alastor was right."

Harry could hear his implication. He turned bone white in fury.

Sirius perhaps didn't know but it was the implication that matter first.

"Get out," Harry said, his voice quiet.

Sirius startled as if surprised. "What?"

Slowly, Harry stood to his feet, his green eyes burning. "I am your sovereign. How dare you act out such pettiness because you want my attention or you don't like who I listen to in _my_ council room? Get out. I will not tell you a third time."

A pin could be heard if it were dropped. Sirius took a step forward and quickly exited the room. Remus winced and went to follow after him.

"Remus—" Tonks began.

Remus winced again and looked at Harry. "May I follow after him, Ha—your Grace?"

"Yes." Harry waited for the door to close behind the two men, looking back to Andromeda and Bill who were pointedly not looking at him. "I do apologize for my inattention. We were discussing war matters and possible diplomacy with the East. You know as well as I that I don't have a head for maths. The Dursleys didn't see much in providing a solid education for me."

" _I_ understand that," Bill said. Of course, he did. Harry said it many times before.

"As do I," Andromeda said. "We were just wrapping up."

Harry nodded and leaned back in his chair, waving his hand, and they continued.

The rest of the meeting was stilted and awkward. It was as if everyone were afraid to even breathe too hard. Harry watched them all carefully and didn't turn to look at Tom even once until he had dismissed everyone, and slowly, his councilmembers and advisors filtered out of the room. Tonks was once of the last to leave, pressing her head against Harry's shoulder.

"It's fine. We're fine," Harry said. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

"You're always fine," Tonks muttered back. She stood up and glanced down at Tom. "Uncle."

"Nymphadora," Tom said as dismissal. Tonks' nose wrinkled.

Tonks looked towards the corner of the room at the two elderly people that Harry had missed in the fray of people leaving.

"Grandfather. Lady Ravenclaw," Tonks said and she made a short curtsey before she moved towards the door. She paused and turned towards Salazar. "Grandfather, I'd like to know about Grandmother, and I'd like to introduce you to my son. Please, join me for tea."

"Your son?" Salazar asked, sounding partly scandalized and partly intrigued. "I'd no idea that you were married, Nymphadora."

"Oh, I'm not, Grandfather—"

The door slammed closed behind the two Slytherins, leaving only Harry, Tom, and Rowena Ravenclaw.

"Your Grace, I'd like to speak with you," Rowena began.

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Rowena pretended she hadn't heard him, watching Harry with narrowed, crow's eyes.

"Your Grace," Rowena repeated.

Harry hummed. "Tom, I'll see you in a moment," he said.

"You want me to leave you here with _her_ alone?" Tom snarled in his ear, his eyes blazing. Slowly, Harry turned his head, and their faces were less than a few centimeters apart. "She'll kill you."

"I'm not the one that practices regicide."

Tom's head snapped around, his eyes dilating, and his nostrils flaring. At that moment, he looked more snakelike than Harry had ever seen him.

"Tom, please?" Harry asked, soft and sweet, looking at Tom with bright green eyes. Tom's eyes dilated further, and his lips curled into a sneer. He didn't move as Harry leaned forward, nuzzling his cheek against the stubble on Tom's jaw, leaving a soft kiss.

"Your attempts to manipulate me are clumsy."

"But, they're working, aren't they?" Harry murmured. "Now, I'm not in the mood for your shit. Please, Tom."

Tom scoffed and stood up, stalking from the room without another look backward. Harry collapsed back in his chair. Rowena was staring at him with those fucking eyes, and Harry's stomach turned. This woman was just another in the sea of people that wanted Tom dead—but this woman _could_ do it. At least, it was a distinct possibility.

"You wanted to speak with me, Lady Ravenclaw?" Harry began.

"He makes you arrogant and somehow small all at once. He dwarfs you," Rowena said. She stared at him curiously. "Tom does."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You would do well not to listen to him as often as you do. He's clever. Always been clever, even as a boy, but you will outlast us all, I think," Rowena said, her eyes sparking.

Harry flinched. He remembered another older woman that had spoken similar words to him.

 _Your love is a clever man, your Grace. I've known a great many clever men. I've outlived them all._

And yet, McGonagall was ash, bone, and flowers, now. Harry's heart ached.

"You have been invited into my council rooms as a courtesy, Lady Ravenclaw," Harry reminded her, regarding her with narrowed eyes. He thought that, maybe, he would've once begged her for stories of his parents when they were children. He would've asked about the war and after his grandparents, too. But, this was a cold broken woman that was the enemy of Tom, and Tom was _his_.

 _Are you a sheep?_

"Very well," Rowena said, roughly. "Just from a former sovereign to another: you cling onto every one of his words, lend your ear to him when it should be lent to others, and you keep him in your bed so that he may have your attention even in sleep. He is always at your side, and this must be reassuring for you. He is an evil man, but even I am not blind enough to not see that he is good to you in a way that he wasn't to my dear Helena. So, you have him. But, consider this, Harry, what will you do when you do _not_ have him?"

Even as she walked away, he heard McGonagall's words echo in his ear.

 _No. You're a lion. The alpha lion. Be a lion._

 **MIRROR, MIRROR**

She was invisible and visible, all at once. She heard Admiral-Governor Graves shouting his orders as they loaded the ships that they were sending off to Albion. His wane bed whore that he called a husband clung to his side, his head drooping as he listened to Graves and Picquery talk around him. Even so, Bellatrix knew what it looked like when one wanted to listen in without being caught. She could taste the power rolling off of Credence _Graves._

Bellatrix looked at all of these people—bewitched by the Fairest as her brother had been. They would go to their deaths. They would drown in the seas, be destroyed by powers far greater than theirs. A fleet of prowess they possessed, but none of the military intellect that needed to accompany that. No, strategy had always been a solely Slytherin trait in Bellatrix's experience. Strategy, ambition, and cunning.

How Narcissa lived up to their name.

The heinous cunt.

Bellatrix crept forward, walking past Credence Graves—invisible to the naked eye—and suddenly, she was staring the boy straight in the eye. He watched her with wide eyes, opening his mouth to speak out, and then Bellatrix was in his face, standing eye to eye with him.

She had always been a tall woman.

 _Speak not of us, creature. We are God-touched._

Credence Graves blinked, once, twice, and he was a pretty, _pretty_ thing. A pretty shell wrapped around a pulsing dark power that Bellatrix would like to eat raw. If she had the time, she would tear his chest open and devour him.

 _We will devour you whole_ , she promised.

It was a threat for another day. Credence Graves turned his face into Graves' shoulder, shuddering and Bellatrix drifted away as the fool of a man asked his spouse what bothered him so. Bellatrix walked up the stairs of the closest ship.

Like her teacher before her, she was air.

 **ON**

Daphne's eyes looked pink as she stared out from underneath the saltwater. Neville looked down into the sunken pool, tilting his head. She did the same, mirroring him. Her lips curled into a feral smile, sharp and pointy. It was the same grin that she had possessed as a child. Neville lowered one hand, brushing it against the still water. Daphne lifted her own hand, pressing the wet palm of her hand to his and their fingers entwined for just a moment.

The door swung open and slowly Neville pulled away from his sister.

"Why is she still in there? Is she still ill?" Augusta grumbled to herself. Neville knew that it was a rhetorical question. Augusta seemed lost without her right hand. Neville wasn't the grandchild that Augusta relied on.

He was the pawn.

"She'll be out for our meeting," Neville said. He sat down at the small table next to the pool and gestured for his grandmother to sit.

Augusta pursed her lips, probably annoyed that he had sat before her, but he was king now. She had no reason to complain about him acting like the king that she had told him he was.

"We know nothing of anyone's next move. We are lying in wait—like prey," Augusta hissed. She glanced back at the pool.

"What did you think we were? We've barely any resources, an army, and barely a king," Neville snapped. Augusta sneered at him but said nothing in particular. Both Longbottoms turned back to the pool and watched as the water began to stir.

A long green-hued arm emerged force. As it touched the air, it paled, becoming the color that Neville was used to seeing. Daphne rose, her hair sopping wet and the thin fabric of her dress clinging to every edge and curve of her body. She turned to face them, her eyes narrowed and yellowing now instead of pink. They shimmered and then, once more, her eyes were the color of the sea.

"Have you learned anything useful?" Augusta demanded.

Daphne barely paid their grandmother any mind as she emerged from the pool, walking towards them as if she weren't practically naked. Neville averted his eyes from his sister's hard nipples poking through the translucent fabric. She sat down in her chair, soaking the velvet with her body and she leaned back in her chair, plucking the raw squirming fish from the goblet that always sat by her seat now.

She swallowed the tiny fish whole.

Then, she looked at Augusta, her teeth bared.

"I've learned what's wrong with me."

Neville's eyes widened. "So...there _is_ something wrong you?" he demanded. "What is it? Who told you?"

"My sister and I communed. And I remembered...my body must change to accommodate the parasite. It is not wholly human, you see, for I am not wholly human," Daphne said, sounding lighthearted.

Augusta's eyes narrowed.

Neville frowned, confused. "What are you saying?"

"She's with child," Augusta barked out. "You fucked Draco Malfoy."

" _Why_?" Neville squeaked, staring at Daphne in bewilderment.

"I did what I must," Daphne said coolly. "I know his every waking thought, his heart beating. I know him like my marrow. I have put myself in his lungs and he has put a babe in me."

"This...changes things," Augusta said sharply. "You will be rid of it?"

"Ah, no. The time to act is now," Daphne said plainly. She looked amused by the surprise on Neville and Augusta's faces. She leaned back in her chair, putting her goblet of swirling saltwater and fish to her mouth and she drank deeply, feeling the slimy little fish slither down her gullet. "I am not human. I am not meant to have a child like this. But, if I must, I will need to strengthen myself."

"How will do this?" Augusta asked.

Daphne grinned a terrible grin. "I shall suck him _dry._ "

 **THE WALL**

"You're going to need an heir."

Harry froze, looking away from the map on the small table. He was lying across the love seat, his head in Tom's lap as the two lazily waved their wands, moving the map piece in interesting, dynamic ways to figure out everyone's next move. Tom was staring down at him, unapologetically calm after the reality-cracking words that he'd delivered like he'd only announced what he intended to eat the next day for breakfast.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked. "Bellatrix didn't have an Heir."

"We intended to be an immortal. I assume that you don't want to eat your own heart out of your chest," Tom said dryly.

Harry blinked. "Would that work?"

"Gods, _no_ , Harry," Tom sighed, irritated. He paused, taking a deep breath and calming himself. Harry grinned. The man was so easy to rile up. "You need an heir though. You will die one day."

"I'm a homosexual, Tom," Harry drawled.

"I'm _well_ aware of it. And you wouldn't be the first homosexual king. But, those kings did their duty, as will you. You must have an heir. An heir of your blood," Tom said and he spoke of it so calmly. He was so clinical about it all, as if the thought of Harry having _sex_ with a woman didn't bother him. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, pulling back his ire.

He could have this conversation civilly. He _could_.

"And who would have my bastard heir on a throne?" Harry asked. "Who would _bear_ my bastard heir?"

"Nobody said anything about it being a bastard," Tom said firmly.

Harry stalled. _What_.

"How—"

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Harry looked up, frowning at the door that led into the corridor.

" _Tempus_ ," Harry said, waving his wand. It was past midnight. No one disturbed him past midnight unless it was Tonks, and she never knocked. She waltzed in as if she owned the place, which Harry supposed she did, and had no sense of personal space, which she didn't have any sense of.

"Enter," Tom called.

Harry glanced at him, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I didn't know these were _your_ rooms," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"I eat, sleep, and shit here. These are as much my rooms as they are yours no matter which rooms were 'assigned' to me," Tom said, his lips curling in distaste. Harry's nose wrinkled. The man could be so fucking vulgar sometimes.

Before Harry could respond, the door was pushed open. Sirius walked in, his head bent forward, and he flinched back when he saw Harry, practically in the Dark Lord's lap. His face was ashen, and his mouth was pinched, but he didn't say anything. Harry jerked away from Tom as if he had been burned, and then he frowned.

"Sirius," Harry murmured.

"Your Grace. I'm sorry. It's late, I know," Sirius rasped. He looked up, steeling himself, glaring daggers at Tom, but still, he said nothing.

"You're not stuttering anymore," Harry said stupidly. Tom made a sound in the back of his throat and Harry dug his knuckles into the man's side, never looking away from Sirius.

"Regulus has been helping me," Sirius said, stiff as ever.

There was a long moment of uncomfortable, unbearable silence

"Is there a reason you're here so late?" Tom finally asked, sounding annoyed.

"I should be asking you the same question," Sirius snapped back. "Oh wait, I already know the answer. You're in here because you defile my godson every night."

Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You know," he sighed, collapsing back into the sofa.

"I wouldn't call it 'defilement'. After all, he begs for it every night," Tom snarled back.

Harry squawked. "Hey, you. Kindly shut the fuck up."

Sirius looked surprised and Tom only rolled his eyes, glowering at Harry's godfather. Harry sighed and gestured vaguely at the chair across from them.

"Would you like to sit down?" Harry asked.

"I'd prefer to stand," Sirius said firmly.

Harry gritted his teeth. So, Sirius was going to make this difficult for him? Fucking splendid. Harry could be fucking difficult too.

"What can I do for you after you so _kindly_ undermined me in my own council meeting?" Harry asked. There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he stared at Sirius. And then, he was surprised as Sirius looked down, almost as if he were _ashamed_ of what he had done.

"That was...that was unprofessional. I apologize for that," Sirius said.

Harry swallowed. "Okay. Good. Just make sure it doesn't happen again."

"It shouldn't because you shouldn't allow him back in council meetings. He adds nothing but doubt and takes up space. You keep him out of sentiment. Sentiment is the death of ambition," Tom said coldly and Harry nearly shivered at that.

How cold.

"This is the man you choose to have at your side, Harry. A man that thinks sentiment and _love_ are for the weak," Sirius said, his lips curling back into a sneer. "I spoke out of turn, yes, but Harry, he is cruel. He is _evil_. He killed your parents. He killed your grandparents. He's killed—"

"Hundreds," Harry finished for him. "I know."

"Do you, really?" Sirius asked, his voice cracking. "Do you really understand all of what he's done? Do you comprehend the tragedy that he has brought upon an entire _empire_?"

Harry glanced over at Tom. His handsome face was so still. He looked like he was made of marble, and he was as beautiful as any marble statue.

"Yes. And maybe that makes me a terrible person," Harry whispered. And then he looked back at Sirius again and tilted his head. "I would give my life for any of those men and women and creatures out there. I have dedicated my existence to this cause. I'd ask for one thing. Him. I'd like you to respect that, and that be the end of it. My sins are mine alone, and I already know what my parents would think, thank you. I dream about it all the time, so let's not talk about it anymore."

Sirius looked floored by his words and he swallowed hard. He didn't nod, but he looked like he had heard Harry's words, Harry's regret, and Harry's defiance.

"If there's anything else," Tom said, sounding bored and dismissive already.

Sirius sneered at the man, but he didn't leave just yet.

"There is something else," Sirius snapped.

Harry hummed. "What is it? I'd like to retire. We've been working since dinner."

"I overheard a plot."

Tom suddenly looked far more alert. "How? Nagini has heard nothing," he snapped.

"Your slimy snake is here?" Sirius asked. "Where?"

"She is my eyes on the ground. My ears in the walls. She is everywhere."

Harry snorted at the man's dramatics.

"What plot?" Harry asked, pushing away his amusement at Tom's antics.

"Moody and his supporters. They've been meeting quite a lot in your absence, and more so, within your return. I think...I think they're plotting to take control of you. To make you their puppet. The same way _he_ did to his sister."

Harry froze. Moody _again_. It always led back to Moody, eschewing distrust and worry amongst the ranks. He glanced at Tom, and Tom was staring back at him, probably thinking the same thing.

Moody had to die.

 **WHO**

"I, King Draco, call this council to order."

The great map of Albion flared with magic and slowly the mountains and forests and rivers rose from non-existence. Draco watched his kingdom form in miniature and up sprung pieces—a dragon piece that represented Wildfyre, a snake piece to represent his uncle and his Death Eaters, and several phoenixes surrounding them to represent the Order and their forces around Westeron. He made note that a city seemed to have sprung up around Andromeda's fortress. His eyes narrowed. He turned to look in the other direction—Longbottom and his forces were represented by iron pieces shaped as swords, crowded on the coasts of Essetir. It was a much smaller presence than Wildfyre's.

"We'll need to strike Afallon. Soon," Dolohov said without any prompting.

Draco's gaze snapped towards him. Narcissa looked unamused by the man speaking out of turn, but she waved her hand, willing him to continue.

Dolohov cleared his throat and nodded. "We've been training the replacement soldiers harder than ever before. Our training regiment is an altered regiment that your brother used for the Death Eaters. They may not have our natural-born skills, but their stamina is building."

"Their numbers continue to grow. It's nearly double what they were before," Nott pointed out, unhelpfully. Dolohov gnashed his teeth at him.

"Their numbers will always grow. But, it means nothing if we strike them where it hurts. They're all gathered in one place. We can take them out now," Dolohov snarled back.

"And what of the East?" Crouch pointed out. "Ironborn will grow stronger. Those that survive will go to him."

Draco twitched.

"Let them. Augusta is an old bitch. The Ironborn is a soft lump who prefers the dirt. And _Daphne_ —" Pansy was snarling. Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned ashen as the blade cut against the soft flesh of her neck, blood beading, a soft red line coming into being. She turned her terror-filled eyes to her love, her King.

Draco was barely breathing. "Don't. Talk about her," he said, his voice stilted.

He hadn't even realized that he'd pulled his dagger.

"Draco, my love," Narcissa called, drawing his attention to her. She grabbed his wrist, slowly pushing the knife away from Pansy, against the table before them. "What say you? How do we approach the situation?"

He knew it for what it was—a placating move. Bait.

He took it.

"Look here," Draco said, pointing with his knife to the coasts. "Ships approach. He must have found himself a fleet. He will try to secure countries through ports. It's smart. He's a good fighter, but he's no war tactician. He has a full council, and he has one of _us_ on his side."

"Tom," Narcissa breathed.

"It's what _you_ would do," Draco said pointedly. "So, we will strike with our navy, not our men. Marching across towards Afallon can wait. We'll be out in the open and can't combat the dragon yet. But, Wildfyre's fleet hasn't reached our waters just yet. We go to secure the port cities, and we send some of our forces to the East to wrest control from this...Ironborn."

And Narcissa looked at him, her eyes wide with pride and her lips twitched into a small smile. She leaned forward, pressing a sweet kiss to Draco's cheekbone.

"My boy...you will surpass us yet," she cooed. Draco scoffed but said nothing. Narcissa pulled away, and hid behind sheets of ice, looking around at the council table. She glanced around. "MacNair is dead. Who will lead the navy?"

"I, my Lady Chancellor," Nott said. Dolohov sneered but Nott didn't look at him. "I have experience on ships. This is something I may accomplish."

Narcissa stared for a long moment. She really had no other choice.

"Very well," she said through gritted teeth. She hated doing things when there were no other choices. "We will send a raven with the message of your command so that they may begin to prepare at once. Ride towards The Alari in the North. Command the harbors."

"Very well, Lady Chancellor," Nott said, and he preened under his new command.

Narcissa turned her attention from him and looked to Dolohov. "I would not have you lead the clash between the Eastern traitors and our men. You are more valuable here and alive as our General."

"Very well, Lady Chancellor." Dolohov didn't sound pleased, but he wouldn't go against her word.

"And you, Lord Crouch, how goes the...experiment?" Draco barked.

Crouch straightened immediately. "It goes, your Majesty. We are perfecting spells. The prototype is nearly done."

"It must be perfect," Draco warned. "Or it is your head."

Crouch nodded. He perfectly understood that. Pansy was still dabbing at the blood on her neck. She had accidentally smeared it so there was a pink tinge to her skin.

"And...we are at war," she said softly as if she had only just realized. She looked at Narcissa and Draco with wide eyes. "Is this a war we will win? They have a dragon. Creatures of all kinds. The Death Eaters. Your sister. Your _brother_ , Lady Chancellor.

Narcissa clenched her teeth, stopping herself from spitting the first curse that was on her tongue. She closed her eyes and remembered a little girl named Cissy who had sobbed under her eyes had felt swollen and her lungs had nearly collapsed from exhaustion. She remembered a little girl named Cissy who had a brother named Tom. And Tom had cradled Cissy in his lap and stroked her hair with the hand covered in Cissy's best friend's blood, and whispered the words that had haunted Cissy until she was a woman grown.

 _From porcelain to ivory to steel to diamond, my love._

Oh, how her brother had loved her. Her brother. The man that had _raised_ her.

And Narcissa took a moment to mourn. She mourned Cissy and Helena. She mourned the man that had raised her just to abandon her. She mourned the woman that had taught her to braid a warrior's braid just to run away to live in mud. She mourned the woman that had taught her to wield a blade—the same blade that Narcissa had practically slammed between her shoulder blades. Narcissa mourned her blood.

And then, she put her mourning away and smiled coolly.

"We will kill them all. But, leave my blood to _me._ "

 **IS**

Hermione waited nervously at the edge of the fight. Barty was dueling with the Dark Lord, their swords clashing against one another. The more she watched, the more she could see how Barty's fighting style resembled his master's. Somehow, Hermione had forgotten how Barty had been practically raised by _Voldemort_. She felt the spar come to a climax as the Dark Lord mercilessly slammed the pommel of his sword into Barty's jaw with a loud crack, and Barty collapsed. Hermione's heart stopped.

"Barty!" she called, rushing forward, ignoring Voldemort's calm surprise. Barty groaned, clutching his jaw, and yet, he was grinning. "Barty, are you alright?"

Barty looked at her, surprised, eyes widening. He opened his mouth and winced.

"He can't talk until his jaw is Healed," Voldemort said coolly. He reached down, pressing his wand tip underneath Barty's chin. "I shouldn't Heal you. You always fall for that one. It'll get you killed."

Even as he spoke, Hermione watched as a soft white glow—too soft for a man like the Dark Lord—beamed from the long yew wand, and then Barty flexed his jaw, grinning.

"Then, who would you Crucio?" Barty asked. Hermione raised an eyebrow. He sounded _teasing_.

"Lucius," Voldemort deadpanned. He glanced over at Hermione again. "Lady Granger appears to want a word with you, Barty."

"I'm not a Lady," Hermione said immediately.

Voldemort pretended as if he hadn't heard her, walking away in clear dismissal. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to Barty. He was watching her like one would watch a skittish horse. He expected her to run, even as she had come to him. Hermione's heart clenched. She had treated her friend terribly in her own cowardice.

"Are you talking to me now?" Barty asked. He sounded cavalier, but Hermione cringed away from the pain in his eyes. She lifted her chin.

She reminded herself that she had the spine of iron.

And then, she broke down, and threw herself at him, tossing her arms around his neck. His arms wrapped around her in surprise and they clung to one another, both stopping the other from collapsing to the ground in grief.

"I missed you," Hermione confessed into Barty's neck. Barty said something, but it was muffled by her bushy hair. She pulled back, looking him in the eye. "What was that?"

"I missed you too, Hermione," Barty said and he looked like he wanted to kiss, and yet, he did not. Hermione was relieved and her shoulders dropped slightly. "You've been avoiding me."

Hermione sighed, looking away. "Yes. Can we...walk?" Hermione asked.

Barty nodded. He didn't offer his arm, only walking alongside her through the camp. Hermione no longer got strange looks. Some had looked at her in awe before. After all, she was the War Bride. Many had seen her duel next to Harry's. But, now, she was plain, old Hermione Granger, and Hermione found she much rather that.

"Is this about...what we were?" Barty asked as they walked in the general direction of Westeron.

Hermione swallowed. "Yes. It's...you know that I love you," Hermione said and that was true.

"I...I know that now. I love you too," Barty said nearly immediately.

"But...I don't want to...you comforted me. You were a great companion to me through a terrifying time. I was lonely. I was terrified. I didn't control what I ate or what I wore. I barely controlled the thoughts in my head. Being with you...made me feel like I could control something," Hermione said, rambling despite herself and Barty quirked an eyebrow at her, his lips curling into a dry smile.

"You see me as nothing more than a friend, is that it?" Barty asked

"Yes," Hermione confessed.

Barty mulled over this for a long time, and Hermione relaxed. He would tell her the same thing and then they could go back to being friends. The type of friends that exchanged book recommendations and gossiped, and he could join her for tea and she could ply him for information on the Dark Lord and Harry Wildfyre.

And then—

"I adore you," Barty said, looking at her. "I might have even fallen in love with you. There's a lot to love about you, Hermione Granger. But, even if you don't feel the same, we're still best friends. And we can remain that way, if you like."

Hermione's heart cracked for him, but it was overwhelmed by the sudden flash of joy. It was the first feeling of joy that she had felt in a long time.

She grinned. "I'd like that. I'd _really_ like that."

 **FAIREST**

"I'm glad that you've finally considered listening to our counsel, your Grace," Fendwick was saying. Harry kept his face impassive as he walked through the camps with Fendwick and Moody on either side of them. McKinnon was moodily following after them after Harry had barely acknowledged her presence.

"Though, we do wish that you had before. If you had not been so arrogant, you could have returned to Albion with an entire navy from the City-States. Instead, they see you as a beggar king, giving you a measly third," Moody said, as if he didn't realize quite how obnoxious and rude he was being. Harry gritted his teeth.

"Thought I don't understand why we had to meet in the cover of darkness—" Fendwick grumbled.

"We obviously didn't communicate clearly. This way, gentlemen. McKinnon," Harry said as he led them past the edges of the camp, preying on their idiotic arrogance.

McKinnon noticed first.

"Your Grace—" McKinnon began.

Harry helped up a hand as he led them towards the cliffs where they waited. Moody grumbled under his breath. Freia sat on the very edge, her wings spread and her head poised forward. Hedwig sat in her shadow, prowling back and forth in front the three Slytherins the waited—Andromeda, Tom, and Tonks. Tonks pulled her red hood further over her face, obscuring her expression. The Weasleys fanned out to the left, and the rest of Harry's Council and the Order to the right. The Alfheimeans and the City-Staters watched as spectators.

"What is this, Harry?" Moody growled, reaching a hand out to grab Harry's wrist.

Simultaneously, a screech and a low growl began to grow until Moody retracted his hand. Harry strode forward, ignoring the three that watched in confusion and dawning terror.

"It has been brought to my attention that you have, once more, plotted against me," Harry said, his voice cold as he turned to look at the traitors.

"Never to _betray_ you. We meant to _guide_ you and only for the good of Albion, your—" Fendwick began.

"I _am_ Albion." Fendwick fell silent as Harry gazed at them impassively. He lifted his chin, looking down his nose at the group of them. "I have left you on long leashes, I will admit. I let you run free to do as you please though I _knew_ that you continued to undermine me in private. I let you debase and demean me in public forum. But, we are at war. We are one. And I cannot have traitors in the midst of my army."

"We are the _original founders_ of the Order!" Moody roared, spittle flying from his mouth. His scars twisted as he shouted at Harry. Harry didn't even flinch. "How _dare_ you imply that we are traitors!"

"Yes. The original founders of the Order of the Phoenix. Created when my mother was still living. But, she is long gone. She is nothing but _bones_ , and _I_ am here. _I_ am the last of her blood. _I_ am the last of her legacy. And you think to manipulate that? To manipulate me? No more," Harry said firmly. He tilted his head, regarding them. "This...I will call it what it is—an act of war."

There was thrum of whispers that ran through the spectators, all whispering to one another before it was quelled under Andromeda's sharp eyes. Harry looked at each of the three perpetrators. Moody was practically spitting in his rage. Fendwick still looked down his nose at Harry, as if he were better than him, and McKinnon...McKinnon looked proper terrified.

"And who would ever _dare_ to speak to this? What proof do you have?" Moody demanded.

Sirius stepped forward. "I have proof. I heard you plotting against him. Plotting to use him as a puppet. I would be happy to provide memories."

"Memories can be tampered with," Moody retorted immediately.

"Even the seeds of discord can corrupt and destroy my reign. And my reign has only just begun. And so, you have been brought before me, Alastor Moody, Benjy Fendwick, and Marlene McKinnon, for the rebellion and conspiracy against the Throne. This is against the law of your King, and thus, is his treason, punishable without trial and with _immediate_ death," Harry said, his voice booming for all to hear.

McKinnon let out a hoarse cry. The only other sound that could be heard was the crackling of the massive bonfire that cast everyone's face in a ghostly orange light.

"Let it not be said that I am an unmerciful King. I insist that...only _one_ of you must die as punishment for your crimes," Harry said.

He could hear them shifting behind him, suddenly uncertain of his actions. Harry heard the grass crunching under a pair of feet, and he caught sight of blood-red from the corner of his eyes. Tonks' hand rested on the pommel of her sword. Harry tilted his head and watched as Fendwick whirled around, pulling his wand.

Suddenly, all three wands were flying from the three former Order members. Harry glanced back. Ron, Ginny, and Kingsley held the wands as prizes, watching with coldness in their eyes. Harry turned back and raised an eyebrow when he saw Moody's large hand curled around McKinnon's shoulder. The man pushed her forward and she stumbled, her eyes wide with betrayal.

"Her. She should die."

"Yes, her!" Fendwick added.

McKinnon whirled on them, tears rolling down her cheeks as her body trembled with suppressed sobs.

"M-me? I-I-I was only doing what y-y-you said!" she sobbed.

Moody acted as if he hadn't heard her. "I can still be useful to you, your Grace," he said gruffly. "I fought in your grandfather's army. I was in the Order from the very beginning. I worked with your father."

"She's an outsider. A foolish young woman who went around spouting her ideas. She doesn't speak for us," Fendwick said.

Harry tilted his head. Slowly, he went to pull his sword but Tonks clapped him on the shoulder. Harry looked at her in surprise, but she was staring straight forward. McKinnon looked up at Tonks, a glowing look of surprise and pleading in her eyes. She reached a hand forward.

"Yes, Lady Tonks?" Harry asked formally.

"Your Grace, I am your Sword. Wield me."

Harry cleared his throat and nodded. McKinnon let out a terrible sob as she fell to her knees, bending her head forward as she prepared for her death.

"Grab her arms," Tonks commanded to Fendwick and Moody.

They did as she commanded, scrambling to obey the woman that they had once spat _'whore'_ at so derisively. They struggled to hold her steady as McKinnon's body trembled with her grief, the hacking sobbing sounds echoing for everyone to hear over the crackling fire. Tonks pulled the great dark sword that gleamed the color of blood and then she swung with all of her might over her head.

Two thuds followed.

There were gasps as Moody and Fendwick's headless bodies collapsed on either side of McKinnon. McKinnon's sobs caught in her throat in shocked awe.

"Remember this," Tonks began. "You live by the grace of His Grace, and you will let _them_ know. The ones that you have manipulated and tricked into thinking like you. When they come forward with notions of retribution or ideas, remind them what Harry Wildfyre does to traitors. Go."

McKinnon leapt forward, sobbing, throwing herself into Emmeline Vance's arms, as the young woman held her. The two collapsed, sobbing into one another's shoulders. Harry turned back to look at the bodies.

"What are we to do with bodies? Who will prepare them?" Remus asked quietly.

"They died a traitor's death. Feed them to Freia," Harry spat, snarling. He spun to look at them all, lifting his chin. He looked at each and every one of them, devouring their terror and their respect and awe. Finally, his gaze fell on Kingsley. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, you are now the Head of the Order of the Phoenix."

 **OF**

They came in droves. It was like a never-ending sea of people. His armies were ever-expanding and Harry felt both trepidation and enthusiasm. He huffed behind the black veil that kept him separate from the proceedings. No one would look up at the balcony that showed Harry both the inner Throne Room and the armies that settled outside.

"Patience, sweetling. You will have them bend the knee soon enough," Tom said sharply. Harry huffed in annoyance as he looked up at the man. He crowded against the Dark Lord, arching his head up, demanding a kiss without words.

Tom looked amused by him and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the seam of Harry's lips. He pulled back after a quick kiss.

"More," Harry snapped, pulling him down.

Tom laughed into his mouth. When he pulled back from their less chaste kiss, he looked endlessly amused. "You are needy."

"Shut up," Harry muttered. He let out a nickering sound and he watched as Hedwig lazily rose from the ground and walked forward, twining between their legs and purring deeply. Harry scratched the top of her head. "My love, I want to meet them."

If Tom was startled by what Harry had called him, he didn't show it.

"Wait. Their chosen champions must pledge to the Order," Tom said firmly. "Watch."

Harry sighed, impatient.

He peered through the curtains at the noble Western Houses. Each House—Smith, Cadwallader, Rickett—had come, Lord and Heir, and with them, their strongest to bind to the Order of the Phoenix. Only after their champions were bound by magic and oath, would they be able to bend the knee before Harry? It was a measure meant to keep Harry safe, but really, to Harry, it seemed like a lot.

The champions moved forward, falling to their knees before Harry's council, led by Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was saying something to them, and they were nodding. They had been made to memorize the Order's oath for this very moments.

"And now, the fire is lit," the three champions began. "It shall not end, as a phoenix does not die, until my death before. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword of fire in darkness."

Tom snorted. "How dramatic."

"Hush," Harry snapped, intrigued by the three champions that were pledging themselves to the Order of the Phoenix.

Amongst the champions, there was one woman. The two others were men—one exceptionally handsome man with golden hair and bright white teeth, and the other was tall and brooding and not particularly handsome at all. Harry grew more and more curious.

"I am the summer's defender and a lion of the pride. I am defender of the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the shield that guards the Protector of the Realm. I pledge my life and honor to the Order of the Phoenix, until the summer dies again."

As soon as their oaths were spoken, fire erupted from the ends of the wands, binding them to the mission of the Order of the Phoenix. Kingsley nodded in appreciation.

"On behalf of the Fairest, I accept your service. Rise, Gwenog Jones. We thank you, House Cadwallader, for your offering. Rise, Karl Broadmoor. We thank you, House Rickett, for your offering. Rise, Gilderoy Lockhart. We thank you, House Smith, for your offering," Kingsley said, sounding quite formal. The champions stood to their feet and there was a smattering of applause throughout the throne room.

The champions drifted back to their respective House Lords. The golden-haired man—Gilderoy Lockhart—stood between another two golden-haired men, though they were much less handsome than him. The younger one, the Heir, lifted his pointy nose and looked around, curiously.

"Where is he, the Fairest?" Heir Smith asked obnoxiously. "Shouldn't this pledge of fealty go to him?"

"Patience, young Smith. He is watching," Andromeda said.

Tom turned to Harry and offered his arm. "Our cue, sweetling," he said, nearly mockingly.

Harry pressed a hand to Tom's arm and let out another soft click of his tongue. Hedwig was at his other side immediately, and the three began to descend the steps that would open up behind the throne. As they had finally moved to reveal themselves, whispering and gossip had sprouted into the silence, all anxious to meet the one that they would be bending the knee to.

Tonks sensed them first. She stood straighter by the side of the onyx throne.

"You stand in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, the Rightful Emperor of Albion, the King of the Four Directions, the Wyrdfod, Protector of the Realm, the Breaker of Chains, the Alpha of the Pride, and the Fairest-of-Them-All!" she announced.

In unison, his council turned towards him. Harry didn't turn his eyes away from the six people that could possibly permanently turn the tides of the war in his favor. They didn't seem able to look away either. Or rather, they didn't seem sure of where to look—whether at the albino lioness at his side or the Dark Lord on the other or at Harry himself.

"I am Harry Wildfyre, King-Emperor of Albion," he said quietly as the Dark Lord led him to the onyx throne and Harry sat down, a Slytherin on either side of him. Hedwig punctuated his sentence with a quiet growl, settling at his feet.

Heir Smith sputtered, unable to say anything.

"Your Grace," Lord Rickett began and then seemed to lose his train of thought.

Harry smiled. "Thank you for coming. I assume you're here to bend the knee to your one and only King?"

And with that question, they fell to their knees.

 **THEM**

"The Order's grown at least threefold in the last week. It's grown more in the last week than it has in over a decade," Ron said calmly, looking around at the camps that had quadrupled in size since all of the Western Houses had gravitated towards Westeron like it was the center of the world.

Hermione nodded, taking that in. The entire castle was stuffed full. Everyone was on top of one another, and people had been moved around. All pretense has been dropped and the rooms that Andromeda had given to Voldemort had been given away to the Smiths. House Wenlock, House Sprout, and House Jones were stuffed all along the west wing with some of their households. The majority of the noble households were in tents surrounding the edges of the city.

Hermione now roomed with a few of the other girls from the first Order camp—Lavender Brown was one of them. She always had little Teddy Lupin on her hip if he wasn't with his mother or father. Ginny and all of her brothers shared a single apartment of rooms, bunking with one another, two to a bed. Ron complained that Ginny kicked. They were running out of space, the camps surrounding Westeron for a few miles, at least.

"We're going to run out of space, don't you think?" Hermione asked, softly.

Ron shrugged. "Maybe. Food stores have been replenished, though. The Muggle women have been planting in the greenhouses. Meat was scarce, but House Smith brought two dozen cows and forty pigs alone. If they're bred well, we should make it through winter."

Hermione froze, her eyes widened. "You think...you think the war will last through winter?" she asked. Even as she asked, she knew it would happen.

"I'm afraid so."

"That doesn't worry you?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged. "This war has been going on for as long as I've been alive. Another hard winter? Well…" Ron trailed off and look at Hermione, curiously. "What would you do about the lack of space?"

"Make room," Hermione said immediately. "We have a third of a navy coming to us with none of our men on it. It'd be easy to turn tail if it got hard. There must be _some_ that are sailors and officers."

Ron beamed at her and Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't realized it was a test.

"See. That's why you should be in the room with us. No one's thought of that as a solution yet," Ron said, beaming at her. Hermione pursed her lips as they walked towards the training grounds. "You should be one of his advisors."

"You know how I feel about the monarchy system," Hermione reminded her.

She walked towards the archery area, littered with centaurs, and Ginny Weasley. Ginny was blindfolded as she shot arrow after arrow. There were three centaurs treading around her, and she moved with them, shooting into their shields.

"She's learning to fight blind," Ron said. "When we crashed your wedding, she was blinded by blood for a moment. Nearly cost her her life."

"I...she's so good," Hermione whispered. "She must have started young."

"We've been in battle since we were thirteen. In our family, it's much like a rite of passage," Ron said quietly. He looked at Hermione with wide eyes. "Our parents were in the Order."

"And now...they're dead," Hermione said.

"Now, they're dead."

"How can you still fight for their cause?" Hermione asked. "When it cost them their _life_."

"Well...it's multi-dimensional. I fight to carry on their legacy. I think...Ginny fights out of revenge. Harry's promised her a life, you see. It's her life to take," Ron said. He answered Hermione's unspoken question. "Antonin Dolohov. But, that's not my story to tell."

"Okay," Hermione accepted. They all bore the mark of other people's sins. She knew that better than most.

"Hermione, I think you should consider advising Harry. He could use your insight," Ron said.

"I could, you know."

Both Ron and Hermione jumped. Hermione spun to face the King and she cringed when saw the massive white albino lioness at his side—Hedwig, she was named. Hedwig was barely paying Hermione and Ron any mind, constantly brushing her massive head against Harry's hand. Harry absently stroked the top of her head, a low growl emerging from the lioness. Hermione assumed that the animal was _purring_ in content.

"What can I offer you?" Hermione demanded.

Harry tilted his head as he looked at the young woman. "I'm not going to beg you, Hermione Granger. I'm not. I don't _need_ you," he said firmly. "But, you are a stranger in a strange land, and you yearn for a home that has been taken away from you. I am offering you a place. A _home_ here. You have been at Hogwarts Castle. You _know_ Narcissa and Draco. You know court. So, I offer: one more time...a place at my table. Where you will be free to offer your opinion and advice to guide me to be a better monarch than any other that sat on that wretched throne."

Harry was watching her with those beautiful green eyes. He really was beautiful. Hermione had never seen anyone that had deserve the title _Fairest_ more. He was more beautiful than the Slytherin siblings put together and they were a striking quartet, when they had been whole. Hermione glanced over at Ron and he was nodding.

"You'd...you'd really listen to what I have to say?" Hermione asked, and she felt so terribly small at that moment. "Even...even if you don't like what I've got to say?"

"I think I'd listen even the more for it. I've learned, quite recently, that the advice I hate to hear is the advice I need most," Harry said with a rueful smile. "Your Luna has taught me that."

And Hermione remembered Luna's story about the humbling of Harry Potter before the City-State and she knew that he wasn't lying.

Perhaps, he would be different.

So, Hermione stepped forward, offering her hand out to Harry. Harry beamed and took it, squeezing hard.

"Hello. I'm Hermione Granger," she said softly.

"Harry. Harry Potter," Harry said with a wide smile. "It's nice to meet you."

He glanced over at Ron, and for a moment, Harry felt something. He felt at peace in a way he had never felt before. Looking at his friend, Ron Weasley, and this girl, Hermione Granger, felt right in a way he had never expected. It felt destined and pre-ordained, as if the three of them would meet in every single universe that may exist beyond their own.

And as he looked at the pair of them, he knew they felt it too.

 **ALL?**

"I did not think that I would ever be back here," Rowena murmured as they roamed the catacombs of Westeron, where the forgotten were buried. She looked over at her brother in arms. "Does your child remember this place?"

"If she does, she says nothing of it. No one has been down here since...our time," Salazar said quietly. This he knew to be true without even asking. He could feel how age and old magic had settled around the tombs like dust. He would be able to feel a disturbance if anyone had been down there.

But, he did not. Instead, he felt Helga's magic, still in the air, though she was long gone. Salazar walked along the corridor, passing the bodies of fallen soldiers. They were going towards the center, just under the throne room—where Helga's magic was strongest. Godric's sword bounced against Salazar's side as they walked.

"The boy is different than expected," Rowena said into the silence.

"He is," Salazar agreed. "Far more beautiful. Far more...stubborn."

"Ah, that, I expected. He is like his father and his mother and his blood before them. He is a Gryffindor and a Potter. But, I was speaking of...he has compassion and he is unashamed of his love," Rowena said. She sounded both admiring and spiteful. Only Rowena could sound like that. Salazar looked at her from the corner of his eyes. She patted a silvery strand back into the tight knot she had made at the nape of her neck.

"Unashamed of my son," Salazar said. "Tom is a manipulative sort."

"Harry is unashamed of him. And he stands up to him," Rowena said. She smiled dryly and without humor when Salazar gave her a look. "It's impressive."

"Not even Bella could stand up to her older brother," Salazar said softly.

"He kicked your boy out of the room when I wanted to speak to him," Rowena murmured.

They stopped talking until they reached the very center of the catacombs, just underneath the throne room. It was a circular room, large and yawning and dark. Rowena raised her wand, waving it once, and the torches along the wall lit up immediately, revealing the massive tomb in the center. Rowena shivered.

Helga Hufflepuff's bones rested in the depths of Hogwarts Castle.

But, Morgin of Afallon's final resting place was Westeron itself, amongst the rest of her army and court.

The skulls lined the walls, staring sightlessly at the two Founders that had put them there. There was something accusatory and terrifying about it all and Rowena had forgotten how many had fallen before the Founders. She had forgotten how many had been on the other side. Rowena had forgotten how terribly ugly war was. She tore her gaze away from the skulls pressed into the walls like heinous wallpaper and redirected her gaze towards the tomb in the center.

In the center was an enormous dragon skull—large and ugly. Ironbellies never ceased growing so Rowena and Helga had always speculated that the dragon Morgin had ridden had been centuries old. Rowena could remember riding side by side—Helga, Rowena, Salazar, and Godric—across the field, weaving in and out to avoid the flames from the enormous white-scaled beast.

There was a large hole in the side of its skull, blown out from the force of an enchanted spear—a spear that had been destroyed the moment the moment Helga had assumed the throne. And if one were to look through the yawning open mouth of the dragon skull, one could see the tomb of Morgin of Afallon, her bones nestled in a concrete box.

"An honor she didn't deserve," Rowena hissed pointedly.

Salazar looked at her. He looked sad. "Helga always said that everyone deserved dignity in death."

Rowena's heart ached, momentarily chastened. She hardened herself.

"Helga is dead. Did your children give her dignity in her death?" Rowena challenged.

Salazar looked away.

He didn't know.

They turned away and faced each other. Salazar pulled Godric's sword from his side. Rowena reached into her own small bag. It had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, and she winced when all of her books and potions tumbled inside, echoing in the tomb. Salazar glared.

"We could have done this anywhere else," Salazar muttered.

"There are eyes everywhere else," Rowena said. She tilted her head. She could hear something, moving. She shook her head and pulled forth a hat.

Salazar made a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat.

It was an old hat, battered and torn. Filthy and patched with a wide brim and a tall pointed crown.

It was Godric's hat.

"Put the sword in the hat," Rowena commanded.

Salazar gave her a look of disbelief but did as she said, pulling forth the sword and slowly slid it into the hat. His eyes widened in shock as the Sword of Gryffindor disappeared into the depths of his Hat.

"What sorcery?" Salazar demanded.

Rowena's eyes glistened. "It is a spell I have tampered with. Like the Extension Charm on my satchel. But, this...the sword will only present itself to the worthy," Rowena said softly. "He must prove himself worthy and there...there could be no one else in the world that _could_ potentially be worthy."

Salazar blinked slowly and nodded. "I...this is good, Rowena," he said and Rowena smirked.

"I know. Not even your wretched boy could touch it. Could you, Voldemort?" she called.

And she knew she was right—that someone had been there—when an enormous poisonous green snake emerged from the shadows. It was as thick as a grown man's thigh and twice as long as some of the tallest men. Rowena was not surprised to see that Nagini had grown to such monstrous proportions. Nagini hissed at Salazar, and Salazar gave a strangled hiss back.

" _Father_."

Rowena could not understand Parseltongue, but Salazar jerked as his son appeared before him, as if he had been air and then wasn't.

Rowena stepped back. Salazar looked at her.

"Rowena," he began.

"Address your own mistakes," Rowena snarled. It was clear that she thought of the Slytherin boy as a mistake. The Slytherin sneered at the former Queen of Essetir, glowering after her with war bright eyes until she disappeared back into the darkness.

Finally, Voldemort looked back at his father.

" _A mistake. She calls us a mistake,_ " Voldemort said with a grim smile. " _How charming._ "

" _Tom…"_

Voldemort turned away from his father. " _I would kill you both where you stand. I do not only out of respect for my King."_

" _And love, perhaps?_ " Salazar asked.

He regretted it immediately. Voldemort's blazing red eyes were on his face again. His hands were clenched into tight fists, one on the pommel of his sword, the other around his wand. His face was bone white. Still, he didn't strike.

" _What do you know about love, Father? You did not love your wife. You did not love your children_ —" Voldemort said coldly.

" _How dare—_ "

"' _Kill them all'_ ," Voldemort hissed through clenched teeth. Salazar paled at the words that had haunted his memories. 'Kill them all', Godric had commanded of a boy barely grown, and he had done as his sovereigns had bid. Tom Marvolo had killed them all. " _I was your judge, jury, and executioner, so I dare. You didn't love us. You made a killer of me, and then, you were finished with us. I raised your children. Bella and I taught them how to read and write and fight. So, what do you know?"_

Salazar looked away. Children had never been something he had wanted. He had...needed an _Heir_.

"Your mother loved you," Salazar said softly.

If Voldemort— _no_ , Tom—was startled by the sudden use of English, he didn't show it. Instead, he glared at him, waiting for more words. Salazar grabbed at the necklace around his neck. It wasn't his locket—not the locket his mother had given him—but, the ring on the second chain. Salazar snapped the chain from around his neck, the ring clenched in his tight fist.

"This was your mother's. She loved you," Salazar said.

"She died," Tom whispered and he sounded lost.

He sounded lost as he had when Salazar had told him the first time. And Tom, not even a man yet, had seen his mother in a bed of roses and blood, Narcissa's pale body still resting against her cold breast. And Salazar couldn't touch her—couldn't look at her. So, Tom had picked Narcissa up and had cradled her and introduced her to their siblings, ignoring their mother's dead body as if he hadn't heard Salazar's terrible sobs.

"She loved you," Salazar said firmly and he pressed the ring into Tom's hand. "She loved you."

He disappeared without another word, and Tom swallowed hard as his fist closed around the small object his father had pressed into his hand.

Tom didn't think much about his mother. When he did, he felt that familiar ache of resentment course through his blood. His mother had been a talented witch and she had died. She had let herself _die_.

Everybody died.

Tom scoffed, shaking his head. He was too old for this. He no longer missed his mother—that happened over time, when the resentment had burned like wildfire before slowly becoming nothing but ashes, as she was. Instead, he opened his fist and looked down at his mother's ring. It had never been particularly beautiful though she had clung to it, never parting from it even when bathing. He did away his father's chain and settled the ring on his middle left finger and held it up in the firelight to admire it.

The ring was clumsy, big, and gold, and set in the middle was a black stone with a jagged crack running down the center.

:::

 **A/N:** Hope you liked this chapter. It was a hard one to churn out. All of this feels like build-up for the main event, to be honest.

Also, please review. Even if it's just to say "Oh, I liked this chapter". It's really encouraging and helps me get chapters out faster. These chapters aren't coming out of the ether. They're coming from a person who really, really would like some encouragment, please and thank you.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Title** : Fairest

 **Pairing** : HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG

 **Disclaimer** : I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.

 **Fairest**

Chapter Thirty-Two

"I, Harry Wildfyre, call this meeting to order."

How many times had Hermione heard those words before? Too many, she thought. Too many times she had sat beside Draco Slytherin and heard him use those very same words. Too many times she had seen the map be magicked to life, and spring cities and mountains and forest and rivers. Too many times she had heard about death and destruction and war.

And yet, this time, something felt different.

Hermione glanced over at Luna, who sat on one side of her. Luna was watching the King intently. Hermione swallowed. This was a large council room. A large council room for a large council. In truth, Hermione hadn't realized how many advisors Harry Wildfyre truly had. It was true that he had his core councilors, but there was upwards twenty people in the room, all representing vastly different goals.

Ginny and Kingsley sat with the King on his main council with Bill, Tonks, Charlie Weasley, and the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord sat by Harry's side, as always. Hermione wondered how often he spoke in meetings. Luna had said not very.

Hermione flinched from his impenetrable red stare and looked elsewhere.

Towards the left of the room was Andromeda with her two most trusted—the Black brothers. To Hermione's knowledge, they represented the interests of Afallon. Then, next to them were the representatives of the Order. Ron winked at her and Hermione's lips twitched into a smile. Remus was watching Tonks with a soft look in his eyes.

Barty sat by Ron's side with Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy. To Hermione's understanding, the Dark Lord's most-trusted often switched off with the Lestrange brothers, depending on whose expertise was needed.

Then, on the other side of the room were the foreign representatives—the United City-State ambassadors and the Prince of Alfheim, Cedric, and his wife, Cho. Next to them were two Adored Ones, though Hermione didn't know their names. She would make it her business to memorize everyone's names.

And then, finally, Hermione and Luna were next to one side of the door—impartial judges.

"A party, isn't it?" Luna said with a soft smile.

Hermione's lips twitched.

"First order of business," Harry began. He looked around at the table, blinking slowly. "Alastor Moody and Benjy Fendwick are dead, by my order. Kingsley Shacklebolt is the new Head of the Order of the Phoenix. This means we are without a Commander of the Cavalry."

There were murmurings all around. Hermione's eyes widened as she glanced at Luna. Luna looked unsurprised by the deaths.

"How…" Hermione began. Everyone turned to her, and Hermione winced under the weight of a thousand stares. "What were they accused of?"

"Treason and conspiracy," Harry said softly. He looked away from her and glanced around the room. "Does anyone put forth a nomination?"

"I nominate Marlene McKinnon," Sirius Black said quietly.

There was another rumble of disruption.

"Out of the question," Tonks barked. "She was a traitor as well, spared only by the mercy of the King."

"And we know that she was not the only one out there questioning the King," Lupin added, leaning forward, intrigued by Sirius Black's idea. He looked thoughtful, tapping at his chin as he looked around. "Placing her on your Council keeps her close and it means that those that question your rule will be appeased. They will believe that their complaints are being heard."

"To reward a traitor for being a traitor. How...quaint," the Dark Lord jeered, softly.

Lupin sneered at the man.

"Enough," Harry drawled before it broke out into a fight. He looked from his left to his right, at the two Slytherins that flanked him, before he turned his gaze back to Hermione, amusement in his green eyes. "What say you, Hermione Granger? Luna Lovegood?"

"Us, your Grace?" Hermione asked softly.

"Luna has vouched for your wisdom," Harry said quietly. "And Luna...is quite wise, as proven in the United City-States. What say either of you about this proposal?"

"It shows that you listen," Luna said, her voice soft and sweet. Her eyes cut over to Tonks, eyes narrowed. "Do not let your pride blind you."

"Very well," Harry said as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Sirius nominates Marlene McKinnon as Commander of the Cavalry on the behalf of Afallon. Lupin seconds it on the behalf of the Order. Who will sponsor her on my Council?"

There was a long moment of silence before Bill Weasley let out a mighty sigh.

"I shall, your Grace," Bill called. He ignored the betrayed look in Ginny's eyes.

"She is a _traitor_ ," Ginny hissed.

Bill's eyes narrowed. "She is of Essetir. Showing an Essetirenean on our side will entice the East once we demand that they bend the knee," Bill snapped. "Do you know how much _money_ the Eastern lords possess? How much the Longbottoms are worth? How much _Arcadia_ is worth?"

Harry looked pleased with Bill's forethought.

"With the support of my council member and an independent party, I say aye. Marlene McKinnon will be sent a missive later today. I shall write it to her personally," Harry decided.

"And to ensure her loyalty?" the Dark Lord asked.

"The Unbreakable Vow," Cedric of Alfheim said. Everyone looked at him, but he stared back, grimly. "We are in war times. Another insurgency within the ranks cannot be tolerated. I'd be happy to dispatch my own to ensure that she and her potential followers be bound."

"Hopefully, that won't be necessary, but duly noted," Harry said with a sly grin. He looked around and stared, curiously, at the City-Staters. "This brings me to my next order of business. Look at the ocean."

Everyone directed their gaze to the map. One of the City-Staters—a Scamander, though Hermione didn't know which was which—frowned.

"Ships are approaching. But, not our ships," the Scamander said.

Kingsley leaned forward in his seat, staring at the map for a long moment. In his deep, rolling voice, he said, softly, "It appears as if Draco is attempting to secure the port cities."

"It cannot be allowed," Andromeda barked.

"Of course it can't. Which is why, I am making Theseus the acting Commander of the Navy," Harry said as if he hadn't just put a _foreigner_ in charge of an essential part of his army.

Hermione winced at the sudden uproar. Tonks was only nodding at his words—it meant that they had privately discussed the matter. But, Ron was on his feet, shouting, as was Barty and Severus Snape. Andromeda looked livid, and even Cedric looked put out. Harry winced under the onslaught of shouts from all sides, but he hadn't looked away from Theseus. Theseus looked shocked, a flush in his cheeks.

"You're being foolish," the Dark Lord bit out.

Harry hissed at him. "Who else present is a captain of a ship? Who else can command a navy?"

" _Me_ ," the Dark Lord snarled. Hermione nearly couldn't hear him from the rest of the shouts as everyone argued with each other about the merits of Harry's proposal.

And Harry paled, his hand flashing out, grabbing at the Dark Lord's arm.

"You cannot leave me," Harry whispered, almost desperately, and he slowly pulled himself away to turn to the rest of the room at large. He composed himself, hiding his desperation deep within himself before he smiled beautifully again. It was a wonderful performance, but Hermione had seen the ache in his eyes. "You didn't allow me to finish. Please, sit down. Ron, put away your wand. No cursing the Death Eaters."

Ron sheepishly stowed away his wand and Barty sneered, sheathing his own sword. Harry scoffed and glanced at Hermione as if they were sharing some sort of joke between the two of them.

"Continue, your Grace?" Andromeda said stiffly.

Harry nodded. "I said acting Commander of the Navy. Two of my most trusted will accompany him and learn from him—Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. The better of the two will rise to the rank of Admiral," Harry decided.

Tonks stiffened. "Harry…" she hissed. "Remus can't go."

Harry glanced over at Tonks, blinking slowly. "Because of your son?" he asked softly. Tonks nodded emphatically. Harry looked back at Remus. "Then...you will discuss and decide in private. But, the offer stands. Will you go, Sirius?"

"Aye, your Grace. I will travel across land and meet the ships by the harbors with Theseus," Sirius said.

Harry beamed. "Good. That order of business is settled," Harry said. He turned to Tonks, who still looked wary of Harry's previous command. Harry reached for her hand and squeezed, and she looked at him for a long moment before she nodded. Suddenly, Tonks turned her gaze to Hermione, her eyes squinted.

Hermione jerked back, eyes wide.

"The Alpha of the Laug Republic is dead," Tonks breathed.

The older magic-users in the room stiffened. Remus' nostrils flared and he looked at Tonks, just as betrayed.

"What?" he spat. "Fenrir Greyback is dead?"

"Who is Fenrir Greyback?" Harry asked quietly, his brow furrowed at not knowing something.

"He's the alpha werewolf of the Laug Republic. The werewolf that turned Remus when he was a boy," Sirius said quietly. He looked at Tonks with wide eyes.

"How sure are you of this, Nymphadora?" Andromeda asked.

Tonks made a face at her given name, but continued on, "Very. The Alpha was slain by his own little wife. She comes now to Afallon. She is important...she is... _very_ important," Tonks said, a little frown on her face.

"And her name, niece? What is her name?" Voldemort asked.

"Is she friend or foe?" Kingsley barked out, just as concerned.

Tonks gave a rueful smile. "Funny you should say that. It seems that we have a mutual friend of hers in the room," Tonks said, and she looked at Hermione again.

Everyone's heavy gazes fell on Hermione once more.

"Me?" she asked, softly.

"Why, yes. The new Alpha is Gabrielle Delacour, and she's _eager_ to meet the Wyrdfod."

 **MIRROR**

"They call him the Beggar King, for he went to his knees to ask for the fleet that was given to him. He is nothing to us, my darling. Nothing," Narcissa cooed as she raked a comb through Draco's hair. He said nothing, only staring down at his crimson-stained skin. The smell of iron and copper dominated the small dungeon room, but it bothered neither of them.

They had become accustomed to the smell of blood.

"He haunts my dreams, Mother. They all do. The Granger, the Fairest...Daphne. Always Daphne," Draco said, his voice cracking. Narcissa lifted the small bucket and dumped the blood of virgins over his head, chanting the dark words under her breath.

 _Clean. Be cleaned,_ she prayed even as she sullied him with the blood—half-blood and Mudblood virgins. It was unnecessary to spill the blood of purebloods. Not when Draco did so every night as he fucked into Pansy Parkinson, using her as a rag.

And still, Pansy took it, like the good little soldier she was.

Narcissa would reward her handsomely when this was all over.

"You have Mother, my love. You only need Mother," Narcissa rasped because she knew what it was to be left behind. They had all left her behind too, and she had become the greatest of them all—she had taken the best parts of her siblings and fashioned herself into a weapon of unbreakable diamond.

She washed the blood over him again, working it into his pale shoulders, murmuring the words. She would mend him blood magic if she could. She would tear the world apart to silence the grief that haunted his waking steps, to temper the rage that would serve a part in their destruction. Draco let out a terrible sigh, shaking his pale hair, dyed pink deom the blood.

"Mother, I'm tired," Draco whispered.

Narcissa nodded slowly. "Yes, my love. Wash clean in the blessed water basin there, and sleep. I have work to attend to," she said.

"Of course, Mother."

He never looked at her, and Narcissa stood from her perch on the stool, uncertain as she left the small dungeon room. Absently, she licked her fingers clean of blood and walked down the hallway, the only pale spot in a long corridor of absolute darkness. She walked towards the closest secret passageway to her office until she heard it.

The hissing.

" _Come...come to me…"_ the voice said before dispersing into a mess of hisses.

Narcissa stopped, pressing her hand against the cold stone wall. It had been a voice of pure venom, chilled and murderous. She couldn't discern the words anymore, and she pressed her ear to the wall, eyes narrowed. She could hear the hissing.

"I...can...hear... _ **you**_ ," she whispered to the wall.

The _hissing_.

" _Come…_ "

The hissing.

"Lady Chancellor?"

Narcissa jerked away from the wall. She looked at Dolohov, a darkness in her eyes. He immediately bowed at the waist, his eyes trained on the ground and Narcissa straightened, tilting her head as she looked at the man. He looked up at her through his pretty, pretty eyelashes, and Narcissa smiled coldly.

"Come, Antonin," she commanded, walking past him.

Dolohov followed her like a good bitch.

"My Lady?" he asked, softly.

"I'm quite cold. Won't you warm my bed?" she drawled.

Dolohov didn't need to answer. She didn't expect him to. She expected him in her bed.

And if Narcissa saw a flash of a pretty little blind girl with pale, pale eyes and dark hair from the corner of her eye, she pretended that she hadn't.

But, she couldn't pretend that she hadn't heard the hissing.

 **MIRROR**

Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy almost never spoke to Harry Potter. There was never any true need to do so. After all, they belonged to their Lord, first and forever. Their Lord operated in their best interests, and they hadn't ever questioned that. If the Dark Lord didn't want them to operate with the man that was, effectively, their new sovereign, then they wouldn't.

And so, they had never expected to find their aforementioned sovereign in the parlor of their shared rooms.

He was serving tea, it seemed, brow furrowed as he attempted to reheat the teapot that surely gone tepid while he waited for them. Severus knew from their Lord's complaints that Harry Potter was quite horrid at reheating tea despite his talent with fire, and so he waved his wand, carefully raising the temperature to nearly boiling once more. Harry Potter jumped, and he looked up, a sheepish look on his face.

"Oh, hello. Thank you. I would've hated to serve you cold tea. I'm quite bad. At reheating tea, that is," Harry said, stumbling over his words.

Severus glanced over at Lucius who looked quite put off. _This_ was the man that had their Lord enthralled. Pretty, he was, but he didn't seem particularly bright.

Severus supposed that could be due to the fact that he hadn't been raised using magic as most witches and wizards were, but then, he remembered that Harry Potter was supposedly destined. He was supposedly going to save the entire world, which Severus wasn't quite sure he believed. He had never put much stock in Divination, and he certainly wouldn't start now.

"Your Grace, it is an honor to receive you in our rooms, of course, but we do wonder…" Lucius said, as diplomatically as possible. "What could we have possibly done to receive this honor?"

Harry blinked.

"Well, I...well, nothing. But, I wanted to have a conversation with you. Sans the Dark Lord," Harry tacked on in a rush.

Severus and Lucius exchanged another look as they sat down across from the King.

"I see," Severus finally said.

Harry leaned forward. "You both far surpass me in military experience, I know. You are, after all, the Dark Lord's most-trusted. This is why I come to you. I feel like you are being underutilized in your positions. I suppose you are not used to that. Being outside of the inner circle."

Perceptive of him.

"No, we are not," Lucius admitted. "But, we serve our Lord in any capacity that he needs us in."

"And I admire that," Harry said firmly. He muttered a spell under his breath, shakily levitating the teapot to pour them their tea. Severus watched him, amused as some of the amber liquid splashed over the sides of the teacup. Harry cursed under his breath as he set the teapot down. "Damn."

"It's fine," Lucius said with barely concealed amusement.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Anyway, I have come because I have decided to make Severus my official Potions Maker, and you, Lucius, I would like for you to work with Ron Weasley to command the troops."

Both Death Eaters startled.

"Does the Dark Lord know you're asking this of us?" Severus demanded. "Does he know his sweetling is trying to command us as if we belong to him?"

"A _Prewett?_ You want me to work with a little _Prewett_ child? A House of blood traitors and Muggle-lovers—" Lucius squawked.

Harry's eyes narrowed, defensive immediately. "No, he doesn't know, and it's not his business. And enough with the blood traitor nonsense. Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters!" Lucius snarled, forgetting himself.

"It doesn't! We have a war to be concerned about. Blood purity is stupid, and we've got an entire population of Muggles that help Westeron operate at the level that it should. Enough," Harry retorted, eyes narrowed in irritation. His eyes cut towards Severus. "And I don't need the Dark Lord's permission for anything. He is _my_ Chancellor. He is in _my_ bed. Not the other way around. How dare you try to mock me because of who I choose to keep in my bed?"

Severus blinked, cowed. Lucius recovered first.

"Your Grace—"

"I'm sorry if I phrased it as a question. It wasn't. It was a command. I am not your Master, but you live on my coin—a coin that _I_ will have to pay back in full. You live in _my_ country because Afallon is mine. And _this_ is a war that you helped to perpetuate. And you will do well to help end it because there has been enough death for generations," Harry said, standing to his feet, green eyes blazing. "Death that you helped spread. You were complicit participants in this. All of this."

Severus swallowed hard.

"We served our Lord," Severus said sharply.

"You had a _choice_ ," Harry spat.

"It was obey or die," Lucius snarled. "What would you have done?"

"I would've _died_ ," Harry snarled, and Severus saw that the young man was not lying. "You. Were. Complicit. Compliant. Participants. And if you want this to end, you will _help_."

And at that moment, Harry Potter looked so much like Lily Gryffindor, Severus felt his heart stop.

And so, he couldn't help it when he said, "Yes, your Grace."

 **ON**

"Gods, Harry, you suck cock like a dream."

Tom reached down, pressing his thumbs to the spit-slicked lips, red and swollen around his cock. He traced Harry's top lip as the younger man bobbed, swallowing his cock, making a soft, wet noise. Tom groaned as he fucked forward, pressing against the opening of Harry's throat again, and Harry moaned around his cock, swallowing hard. Tom reached down, hooking his thumb in the corner of Harry's mouth and fucking in deeper.

Harry looked up watery green eyes and pulled off, gasping for breath. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and dove in hungrily, lapping and chasing the vein on the underside of Tom's cock.

"Just like that," Tom growled. He wasn't sure if he was speaking to himself or to Harry, but Harry's eyes brightened, pleased. Harry lowered his mouth, lapping at Tom's balls, kissing up his shaft, and wrapping his swollen lips around the man's cock once more.

It was hot and slick, and surely, Harry had gotten far too good at this. He had taken to sucking Tom's cock like a fish to water, and he was such an _eager_ student. Tom knotted his fingers in Harry's hair and thrust once, groaning as Harry's slick throat fluttered around the head of his cock, and a wet gagging noise filled the air. He pulled Harry's head back, admiring how _pretty_ the young king looked, sticky strands of saliva sliding down his chin, hanging between Tom's cock and those swollen red lips.

Harry's lips curled into a terrible smile and he dove forward, pulling his lips back over his teeth and fucking his mouth down on Tom's throat, gagging again on the older man's cock. Tom groaned and they fell into a steady rhythm. It was nearly violent—the way Harry would swallow around Tom's cock as Tom thrust forward, threatening to choke Harry on the fat shaft. The sloppy noises drove Tom further and further along the bath of pleasure and he felt his balls begin to tighten. Tom wrapped his hand around the part of his shaft that Harry couldn't fit in his mouth and jerked it off roughly, his fist gently bumping into Harry's lips on every down stroke. Harry tore Tom's hand away and went as deep as he could, his nose brushing the thick thatch of hair at the base of Tom's cock, gagging roughly. Tom made a choked sound that tapered off as Harry pulled back, breathing heavily.

"Cum on my face," Harry rasped, his voice rough from his abused throat.

Tom paused, staring down at Harry as he stroked the length of his shaft, fast and hard. Harry leaned forward, running his tongue over the head of Tom's cock against, tasting every inch of skin that Tom wasn't touching.

"What?" Tom hissed.

Hoarsely, Harry demanded, "Cum on my face. Make me your whore."

Tom stopped immediately, his hands dropping to his side as he stared narrow-eyed down at Harry. His cock still hard, bobbed in the air, and Harry dove forward, taking the cock into his mouth and swallowing hard, down to the root. Tom groaned and with his fingers knotted in Harry's hair, he spilled down the younger man's throat. Tom collapsed back in the chair, breathing softly, brushing his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead.

"What was that about?" Tom hissed.

Harry pulled off, slowly, swallowing again as he tried not to think about the bitter aftertaste. Harry closed his eyes, still on his haunches and he turned his head away, looking down at the ground. Tom reached down, grabbing Harry by his arms, pulling him up onto the couch. Harry didn't resist.

"Harry, _why_ did you want me to call you a whore?" Tom demanded. Harry hummed, shaking his head, burying his face in Tom's neck. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Tom, straddling his thighs. Tom sighed, running a hand down Harry's tunic covered back. His eyes softened. "Sweetling, please talk about me."

"Tom, I'm tired," Harry whispered. "Bed, please?"

And Tom stared down at him for a long moment that felt like years and then he nodded, standing up. The taller man let Harry hang from him as he stumbled towards their bed, and ever so gently, he laid Harry on the soft sheets. He laid down next to Harry, his back towards the smaller man, and they did not speak or move for long moments that felt like hours.

Only when Harry shifted, pressing his chest against Tom's back and throwing a leg over his thighs, did they rest.

 **THE** **WALL**

"You have to go. I know."

The words flew out of her mouth even before Remus had shut the door to their rooms. He waited for a long moment, looking at Tonks with narrowed eyes. She was standing so tall and strong, her chest puffed out, her pink hair in wild spikes. And then, she deflated just as quickly, her hair rapidly turning brown. Teddy tensed in her arms and patted her cheek with a chubby little hand.

"Mama?" he asked, softly.

Tonks' arms tightened around him even more.

"Remus...he needs his Papa," Tonks whispered, her voice cracking.

"And he has his Mama. His incredibly strong Mama," Remus said softly. He walked up to her and grabbed her free hand, carefully leading his small little family to the couch. He sat down and immediately, Tonks curled into his side, tucking Teddy tight between the two of them. Teddy squirmed, disliking being held so tightly for someone nearly four. "Please, Teddy. Your Mama needs to hold you. _I_ need to hold you."

Teddy whined but settled just so. He'd be patient.

"I know you have to go," Tonks said again. "You can't just say _no_. You could be...you could be _Admiral_. And there's a war. We always knew that we would have to sacrifice some things to the war."

They both knew what she was talking about. Sacrificing their monogamy, their personal wants, exploiting their personal fears. They were willing to bleed and die for the war to end, for peace to truly spread across Albion. That willingness to put everything on the line—her mind, body, and soul—had always been what Remus had loved most about Tonks, and vice versa.

"But, now we have a son," Remus said quietly.

"Now, we have a son," Tonks agreed.

"And our son will be proud of his parents. He will know what we have done for _his_ future. I daresay that I'll be safer going to lead the fleet. You'll be in the thick of battle," Remus pointed out.

That had always been true, and it had never worried them before. Tonks was exceptional on the battlefield. After all, she was a Slytherin, trained by one of the most fearsome witches that had ever lived. And yet, everything felt so much more real. It wasn't that the war had been pretend before, but now, they had a king—a king of flesh and blood, not just an idea—and he was rallying an army. Harry was a king in want of a throne, and Remus knew how loyal Tonks was. She would _die_ for her Wyrdfod.

"And I know...I could...die. And he would be well-taken care of. Mother would look after him," Tonks said softly and she pulled Teddy in closer to her. She pulled her wand out as he grew more restless, summoning one of his little dolls to him. Teddy cooed at the sight.

He smiled up with his few teeth. "Thank you, Mama," he giggled.

Tonks' eyes softened even as her brows drew down further in frustration. "You're welcome, my love," she said quietly. She turned back to Remus and she sighed, sounding as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. "This is all for him."

"It's all for us. Our family," Remus said quietly and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her lips, and immediately hated himself for it.

Tonks melted into it, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, clinging to him. It wasn't often that he let himself kiss her. She was too good—too good for him. She was a Slytherin. A Princess. And he was an old, scarred werewolf, barely worthy of the title of Auror. Teddy reached up, swatting both of them.

"No! No!" he shouted, disgusted by his parents' show of affection.

Tonks let out a bright laugh, her hair turning a bright pink once again. And she pulled Teddy onto her chest, tickling his belly and Teddy writhed with laughter. Remus committed the moment to memory, and he closed his eyes.

Teddy and Tonks.

His family.

He'd need that memory in the war to come.

 **WHO IS**

"The ships are circumventing the South. They're coming towards Afallon," Hermione said, tracing her wand over the tiny ships moving at a snail's pace along the coast of Albion. "They're coming towards _Westeron_."

"They have no orders. None of our men are on that ships. Remus and Sirius are nowhere near. How fast is an owl?" Bill asked, looking at Kingsley. Kingsley's brow was furrowed as he examined the board and he fell back in his seat, sighing long and hard.

"Not fast enough," the man said.

Harry squirmed in his seat, irritated. A meeting in the middle of the night. Narcissa was clever. Clever, clever, clever. To take off in the cover of night, sending some of her ships to the South, as they had expected, and then sending a whole fleet towards Afallon.

"The City-States' fleets are approaching, but they've already gone to meet Remus and Sirius in the South," Tonks sighed, shaking her head. She looked towards Harry, eyes wide, suddenly lost, and Harry winced, looking away. He glanced over at Tom, but he was leaning over the map, eyes narrowed.

"What do we do?" Harry demanded.

Tom looked up, eyes narrowed. "We have no ships."

Harry groaned, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head.

"You can go."

Everyone paused and looked at the two women by the door. Luna and Hermione stood in the doorway, watching with narrowed eyes. Harry looked at his civilian advisors, eyes narrowed at Hermione Granger. She stared back, unafraid.

"What are you saying, girl?" Tom barked.

"You can go, Harry. You can destroy them alone," Hermione said quietly. "You have a dragon."

"Absolutely not."

Harry looked over at Tom, wide-eyed. Tom's eyes were narrowed with fury, all of his rage directed right at Hermione Granger. Hermione tried her very best to glare back, but even she was cowed by the Dark Lord's absolute fury. Harry glanced over at the rest of his council, but they all glowered at Hermione, just as irritated by her words as the Dark Lord.

"You can't go alone. It's not safe," Ginny said, coolly. She tore her eyes away from Hermione to look at Harry. "It's not safe. You can't go."

"I agree, your Grace," Bill said.

Charlie leaned forward from his perch by the window, his eyes beseeching. "We don't know if they've discovered any spells that Freia isn't impervious to. It might not be safe for Freia either," Charlie said firmly, and Harry nodded.

That explanation had made the most sense to him.

"She's a _dragon_. The only part of her that isn't impervious to magic are her eyes," Hermione rushed out. She strode forward, standing just in front of Harry and she reached forward, grabbing his hand and squeezing. Harry looked down at their clasped hands, alarmed. "Harry, you have to go. How will we stop them otherwise? There's no other way."

"My council disagrees with this action," Harry said quietly.

"But, you're the _king,_ " Hermione said sharply.

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "You can't have it both ways! You can't say that a monarchy is barbaric and when his council disagrees, you tell him to pull rank. You can't disrespect our king. You go around screeching and complaining about how you're not from here and yet, you leech off our king's hospitality. You have his ear even if you don't want to _obey_ the law and him. You know what— _fuck_ you, Hermione Granger," Ginny snarled.

Hermione winced, taken aback by the vitriol in Ginny's tone. "I just—I'm _not_ —"

"You _are_ ," Ginny said, her voice hard.

There was a long moment of tense silence. Hermione swallowed hard and looked back over at Harry, much more subdued now.

"I just...there's no one else that can do it, is there? Only you," Hermione said, her voice small, and she felt a flash of rage rock through her as Harry Wildfyre stared at her with something that couldn't be _anything_ but utter amusement.

He was _amused_ by her humiliation.

"What do you say...my dear?" he said, slowly rolling his head to look at Tonks. Hermione's eyes narrowed at the odd moniker. Everyone else's confusion was palpable, but Tonks hadn't twitched. "You've said nothing."

"I cannot do this for you," Tonks said softly. "If I could, I would."

"I know," Harry said, his amusement dampened. He reached towards her, lacing their fingers together and he squeezed. "You agree with the Lady Granger."

"No—" Kingsley began.

Tonks nodded once. "Yes. I do."

 **FAIREST**

Harry stood completely still as Tonks and Andromeda outfitted him, spinning around him and barking orders at the other maids. He ignored the way his council observed, still in awe of him though they had seen every mistake he'd ever made. Harry glanced down at the chest that was being Levitated into the room by two young maids.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"It was your grandfather's. We had it repaired. It was found in storage," Andromeda said briskly.

Harry raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Tom. Tom stared back at him, unimpressed.

Harry rolled his eyes and huffed.

"You are foolish," Tom spat, ever spiteful. Harry looked away to hide his smile. "If Granger's idea gets you killed, I will tear out her throat. With my teeth."

Harry heard Hermione Granger's squeak and Ron's whispered reassurances that it wouldn't come to such things. Harry didn't have the heart to say that if he _did_ die, Tom would make good on his word. The man was many things, but not quite a liar.

Not quite.

Harry pulled his final layer of robes over him, the dark red of the dyed Basilisk scales appearing nearly black in the low light. He took a step forward as the chest was dropped just a few feet in front of him. Tonks waved her wand and the chest slowly creaked open. Harry made a soft sound in the back of his throat as he looked down into it. Tonks pulled forth a gorgeous cloak of crimson velvet, with a collar of soft white fur. Harry brushed his fingers through it and frowned when he realized how coarse it felt.

"What is this?" Harry murmured.

Tom looked notably surprised. "It's a lion's mane. It really _is_ Godric's cloak."

He sounded displeased.

Harry beamed as Tonks whipped it around, sliding it over his shoulders and fastening with a golden broach that she tapped with her wand. She reached up, arranging her hair to fall better over the crown the was woven into the raven locks.

"This seems like a lot of ceremony," Harry teased gently.

Tonks was not smiling. "You are off to do foolish things, yes, but you will look beautiful doing so. I am your Sword," she repeated.

Harry's brow creased. She had said it thrice before. Still, he did not ask. That was a conversation for another time. Instead, he looked back at Tom. Tom stalked forward, grabbing Harry's chin. Harry opened his mouth and was silenced with a fearsome kiss. His council fell silent as Tom devoured him, licking into his mouth as if he wanted to own every inch of him. Tom pulled back, looking at him with burning crimson eyes.

"How…forward," Harry said, his voice lilting.

Tom didn't blink; instead, he pressed something into Harry's hand. Harry looked down and made a quiet noise in the back of his throat.

It was a beautiful knife. Curved and dangerous, the handle wrapped in leather.

Tom's ceremonial knife.

The knife that had taken Helena's heart. Lily's heart.

The knife meant to take Harry's heart.

"You take this with you. You take this and I will _always_ know where you are."

Harry took the knife, attaching it to his belt and then leaned up on his toes to press a kiss to Tom's jaw, ignoring the looks cast their way.

" _Inwi nwaly ten'ke_ ," Harry breathed for just a moment and then he spun with a swish of his cloak. It dragged behind him as he walked towards his balcony, never stopping his stride. He whistled sharply and was answered with Freia's roar of discontent.

Freia swung down from the roof, chips of brick falling from her claws as she flew next to the balcony, offering her wing. Harry stepped up onto the railing and stepped on her wing, walking towards her back. He settled himself at the base of her neck and Freia let out another roar.

"Remember!" a voice shouted. Harry looked back to his balcony. His council had rushed to follow and Hermione was pressed to the railing. "It's along the Karnaron border. They want to try to claim the Western Sea. They'll be by the Southern mouth of it for sure."

Harry nodded. He leaned over Freia, pressing a kiss to her scales.

"Okay, Freia. Let's go."

And with a roar, Freia shot off, the dawn turning the sky orange. Harry squinted against the terrible glare, hiding his face against Freia's scales as she flew through the air. The cloak must have a Warming Charm on it, he thought, for the air was frigid, even for flying as hard and fast as they did. Harry's fingers dug into the soft spots between Freia's scales as he went farther and farther. In the parting of the clouds, he could see the water, and he wondered then just how fast Freia could really fly.

Harry hummed, leaning forward, whispering quiet, reassuring words into Freia's scales. He tilted sideways, and Freia let out a screech and barrel-rolled through the sky. Harry shrieked in laughter and exhilaration as they spiraled through the air. Freia let out a cooing sound of approval and then she dove, piercing the clouds.

Harry's eyes widened as he saw the approaching ships. The Slytherin colors were hoisted high above the ocean. There had to be a fleet of at least three dozen ships—an ample amount to launch an attack on Westeron, which sat on a cliffside. Harry's eyes narrowed and he rubbed his face against Freia's side. Slowly, he sat up, raising one hand above his head, his lips curling back into a sneer.

" _Fuir._ "

And the ocean was set on fire.

 **OF THEM ALL?**

"It's...different from how I imagined," Fleur said softly as they walked through the bustling city that sat at the base of Westeron. She was watching the people go about their day. They didn't seem bothered or in any way affected by the newcomers. Gabrielle expected that new people joined this strange little colony of people every day.

She amended her thoughts of 'little'. What must have begun as a small village had become a sprawling city. As they approached the castle, she looked to her right and saw tents going as far as the eye could see.

"Look. Up there," Grom said, pulling away from his brothers as he went to stand between the two Delacour women. Gabrielle followed his gaze and couldn't help her tiny gasp when she saw what sat on top of one of the tallest towers.

The dragon was terrifying even from so far away. It seemed to be watching them, but it made no sound, only staring at them with evil yellow eyes.

"The Wyrdfod's dragon," Gabrielle murmured to herself.

She redirected her gaze to the steps of Westeron Castle and was stricken twice. Gabrielle saw the Red Woman, in all her glory. Her crimson cloak swept the floor, her hood over sharp pink spikes. Beneath her cloak, she wore full battle regalia, brown leather that made her look dangerous. She was so strange to look—terrifying and lovely. It wasn't the type of lovely that a Veela was. It was human. A loveliness that one could miss so easily.

Just behind her was a woman that looked like Baba Yaga, but so clearly wasn't. Her long pale hair fell in straggly strands to her waist. Unlike the Red Woman, this woman was barefoot, her skirts falling just to her ankles. Next to her was a terrifyingly tall man that dwarfed her. One of his eyes was pale and blind, a wicked scar bisecting that side of his face. His hand was on her shoulder, but there was nothing _paternal_ about it. The slight, pale girl came forward first, eyes wide.

"Welcome to Westeron," the girl said with a sweet smile. "I am Luna Lovegood."

"I am Grom. These are my brothers and company. We come to join the war," Grom said gruffly.

Still, the Red Woman did not speak. Gabrielle couldn't look away.

"I am Rodolphus Lestrange. I will lead you to the campgrounds," the man said, striding forward. Gabrielle mourned the fact that she would not get to speak with the Red Woman. She glanced at Fleur, but Fleur was watching the girl, Luna Lovegood.

Luna was grinning at Fleur. Fleur's smile grew.

Grom made a move, beckoning his brothers and the Delacours along with him.

"No."

The Red Woman had finally spoken.

Grom and his brothers stopped, staring at her.

"No?" Lestrange asked.

"The Delacour sisters have been requested," the Red Woman said.

Luna Lovegood finally pranced down the steps, surprising nearly everyone. She nearly collided with Fleur, grabbing her hands and pulling her forward, excited.

"Ainu. Fleur, I've been waiting for you," Luna Lovegood whispered, excitedly. She stood on her toes, and even still, was only able to press a kiss to Fleur's jaw.

The Red Woman crooked her finger at Gabrielle.

"Come, Gabrielle," the Red Woman called.

Grom's hand shot out to grab her wrist. "How does she know you? Did you like to me?" Grom growled out.

"I know her like my marrow. Come here, Gabrielle. Fleur," the Red Woman said.

She did not sound like the type of woman to repeat herself a third time. Slowly, Grom released her, allowing himself to be ushered away by Lestrange. Luna Lovegood grabbed Fleur's arm, clinging to her, and pulling her forward. Gabrielle slowly walked closer, never looking away from the Red Woman.

"We were requested. By _him,_ " Gabrielle said as she stood next to the Red Woman.

The Red Woman hummed and began to lead them forward.

"And he's in there?" Fleur asked softly.

The Red Woman nodded, slowly. Her eyes were staring straight ahead and when they weren't, she glanced at Gabrielle from the corner of her eye, curious about her.

"He is. He wants to meet you," the Red Woman said.

Luna Lovegood clung tighter to Fleur's side. "After he knows that you are like me, he will want to know you more. We are important. Ainu."

Even still, Gabrielle wasn't entirely sure of what that meant, but the way Fleur had instantly taken to Lovegood showed that she was safe, in some way. At least, she didn't seem like that a threat that Gabrielle couldn't dispatch if the need arose.

"And there's someone else that will want to speak to you," the Red Woman said. She turned to the redheaded pair of twins that stood in the Entrance Hall. They were short and stocky but had a hardened look in their eyes. They had seen war. "Go fetch the War Bride. She'll want to speak with them."

The two twins nodded, rushing off almost immediately. Gabrielle turned her attention back to the situation at hand. She glanced at the Red Woman.

"You're...you're a Slytherin," she said slowly.

The Red Woman's eyes widened. "How did you...yes."

Gabrielle did something she hadn't done in a long while. She blushed.

"I...I was obsessed with Albion. When I was a child. You look just like Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer and Andromeda Empath. You have their eyes and their mouth and their nose," Gabrielle said quietly. "Fenrir...he had books full of portraits of them."

The Red Woman's eyes softened. "I am Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Andromeda Slytherin," she introduced as they reached the final pair of double doors. She glanced over at them. "Don't feel like you must bow. He won't care."

And with those words, she waved her wand, sending the doors inward.

There was a long plain black runner from the door to the onyx throne that sat at the far end of the hall. It was lined with people—Order of the Phoenix members—the firebird emblazoned on their chests.

Gabrielle stared at the man who sat on the onyx throne with narrowed eyes. Her hand fell to rest on the pommel of her silver sword. She reached down, running her fingers over the edge of the silver blade, reassuring her that it was there. That she could fight if she needed to. Fleur's hand tightened on her shoulder, a warning but also support. Gabrielle would speak on behalf of the pair of them.

The man that sat on the onyx throne was easily the most beautiful person that Gabrielle had ever seen. He was more beautiful than a Veela—red lips parted over straight white teeth. He was nearly as pale as Gabrielle, but it contrasted with his lovely raven hair. Dressed in red-dyed Basilisk scales and fur and velvet, and silver tree branches dripping with rubies jutting from his head in a crown from his messy hair, he was both otherworldly and frightening human. He was staring at them with a curiosity that hurt.

He was both so far away and so close. Gabrielle could feel the power beating off of the man. She looked at the man that stood at the King's side, blood-red eyes piercing them, looking between Gabrielle and the Red Woman.

"You are Gabrielle Greyback. The Alpha of Laug."

The man's voice was soft and lilting, affecting as well as a Veela's voice would.

"Yes," Gabrielle said, cutting through any enchantments. She could see...something _hazy_ around the King, like his beauty gave him a strange power. "You are King Harry Wildfyre of House Gryffindor. The Fairest. The _Wyrdfod_."

The Wyrdfod raised an eyebrow and gave a slow smile.

"I've been called that from time to time, yes."

The Wyrdfod was more impressive and more terrifying and lovelier than Gabrielle had imagined. And yet, she could practically hear the blood pumping in his veins, his mortality as visible as a little bird's. It suddenly struck her that this man was either absurdly stupid-lucky or absurdly stupid-blessed; he should've been long dead by now.

"My sister sees you in dreams. She is Ainu," Gabrielle said, striding forward, powerfully. She ignored the way everyone shifted in the room. She only stopped at the base of the throne when the Dark Lord shifted, pulling the hauntingly pale wand from his side, pointing it at her. "You are blessed. You are _Deliverer_. You have burned a fleet of ships, and conquered lands. Men tremble at the sight of you. Women pray to you as if you were a god. You have done the impossible."

The Wyrdfod smiled. "So, have you."

"No, I haven't," Gabrielle said arrogantly.

"You've killed Fenrir Greyback, the Wolf of Laug," the Wyrdfod said.

Gabrielle refused to wince. Instead, she blinked. She had shed that weakness of her, like an old snakeskin. And yet, even still, she felt an old ache inside of her—like a phantom limb. Fenrir's smile was burned into the back of her eyelids. Her love. Gabrielle opened her eyes again.

The observers were watching with disbelief. They couldn't believe that _she_ was the Alpha.

"What do they say of my dearly departed love?" Gabrielle asked. The Wyrdfod straightened, no longer relaxed. Gabrielle's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I loved him. I loved a monster."

"Oh, my dear, I know a thing or two about loving monsters," the Wyrdfod said and he reached up without looking away from her, brushing his fingers against the Dark Lord's sleeves, pulling his wrist down.

The tension in Gabrielle's shoulders drained away when the Dark Lord's wand was no longer pointed at her.

"They said, that he could change a man into a wolf even without the moon's power. They say that he was a slobbering beast. They say that he couldn't be killed," the Wyrdfod said, his lips twisted into a dry smile and Gabrielle couldn't help her bark of laughter.

She hadn't laughed in ages.

Gabrielle shook her head. "Anyone can be killed."

:::

 **A/N:** Hello, world! I've returned!

I'm so sorry that this took me such a long time to get out. This chapter was really hard for me. I think it was the weird blowjob scene that's just right in the middle. It serves a narrative purpose in the sense that it has to do with Harry's personal growth/regression, but it feels so extraneous when examining the big picture: i.e. the war.

Anyway, please review. Reviews fuel me to update faster! Also, I really like questions and I respond to like every review/comment, so feel free to shoot a few at me.


End file.
